WALL OF DEATH
by AndiiV
Summary: If you make a mess on a job, you clean up properly or face the consequences. When Dean fails to clean up the way his daddy prescribed, he and Sam find themselves in the worst kind of trouble. Set Season 2, after Born Under a Bad Sign.
1. Chapter 1

"**Get away from me,** Sammy. I'm done for."

Dean's eyes flashed, bloodshot and full of dread. Sam shook his head.

"I'm not leaving you like this."

"It's dragging me under, I can't stop it. Take off, man."

Dean sounded as beat up and ragged as he looked. Sam glanced round the circular pit they were standing in: thirty feet across, twenty feet high and the only door in and out securely locked. He wasn't going anywhere.

"We're trapped, Dean. Try and stay calm." He kept his voice low and quiet. Dean was right on the edge of meltdown.

"Then you've gotta kill me, 'cause in a few minutes…"

Dean's voice tailed off and tears pricked at his eyes. He sounded terrified and Sam knew it wasn't fear of dying. He glanced at his watch, the hands luminous in the half light. His stomach twisted as he realised time was almost up.

Dean was staring at him, breathing hard, fighting to keep it together.

"I was supposed to save you, Sammy. It wasn't supposed to end like this."

The tears overflowed and ran down Dean's battered face. Sam pulled him close and hugged him tight. He smelled of blood and sweat; Sam could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Way too fast.

"I'll get us through this, Dean. Just don't…."

Dean shoved him away roughly. "Who the fuck are you?"

He sounded hostile but uncertain. He backed up until he was pressed against the concrete wall. He scrubbed at his eyes and squinted.

"That you, Sammy? For a moment there I swear…"

He grimaced and threw an arm across his face.

"Turn the friggin' lights off. You trying to blind me?"

Sam frowned. If anything the yellow sodium lights, thirty feet above, weren't bright enough. The pit was a gloomy hole, rank with gasoline and exhaust fumes which had impregnated it over time. The shadows couldn't hide the patch of nearly-dried blood near Sam's feet and his eyes were drawn to it like magnets. It was Dean's blood and he knew exactly how it had gotten there. He'd watched it happen, powerless to intervene as his brother was systematically put through hell… Sam tore his gaze away. He couldn't bear to think about it.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up. Dean was staring at the viewing gallery which ran round the top of the pit. His expression was manic. He was losing the fight.

"There's demons up there, Sam."

His voice was too loud but utterly sincere. Sam knew there was nothing there except the sadistic bastards who'd dreamed up this nightmare but Dean wasn't lucid, wasn't thinking right. He barrelled across the pit and threw himself at the wall with a sickening crunch. From above came jeering and taunts. A voice filtered down clearly and Sam recognised it.

"Come up and see me sometime…"

"Toss me a rope and I'm all yours, bitch." Dean snarled the words into a cacophony of mocking laughter.

"Don't sweat it, Dean. Soon you'll be flying." A different voice, off to Sam's left. He knew this one better, pictured what he'd do to its owner when he got free.

Sam wanted to yell back at them but he kept a lid on it; raising his voice would only agitate his brother. Besides, he'd already made every threat, every promise of hellish retribution in his vocabulary. There was nothing more to say. The taunting got to Dean though and he began yelling as he attempted to scale the twenty foot wall, gouging at the rough concrete blocks, scraping his fingers raw but oblivious to the blood and pain.

Sam strode forward, clamped his arms around Dean's chest and hauled him away. It was like trying to hold onto a grizzly bear. Dean struggled and cursed, impossibly strong. None of his recent injuries, not even the bullet wound was slowing him down or holding him back. Sam knew he wasn't feeling any pain right now.

"You can't stop me, you yellow eyed son of a whore."

Dean broke Sam's grip and turned fast. His right fist whipped out and Sam jumped backwards, feeling the rush of air past his jaw. He countered the move quickly, punching Dean square in the face and splitting his lip. Dean staggered and crashed into the wall but bounced right off and then he was approaching again, slow and deliberate.

Sam backed up until he hit concrete and Dean stood before him; flushed, breathing hard and swaying slightly. Every muscle in his body was tense, tendons popped in his neck and his eyes were darting round the pit, tracking things only he could see. He was muttering steadily under his breath and Sam tried to break through the delirium.

"I'm not a demon, Dean, I'm your brother. Look at me, really look. Try and…"

"Shut your hole, you bastard."

Dean's voice was a guttural growl. "You fried my mom, took my Dad, turned my brother into a freak, now it's time for payback."

This close, Sam could see the blankness, the dead look in his eyes. This wasn't Dean anymore; Dean was in a different reality where all he could see was the thing he most wanted to kill.

Sam heard more laughing and jeering above him.

"Lay your bets, fellers, here it comes."

He didn't dare take his eyes off Dean. His brother had the look of a predator, eyes narrowed and calculating. Sam took a few steps to his left, keeping his back to the wall and Dean moved with him.

"You bought a one way ticket downstairs, and I'm punching it."

Sam made a quick feint and Dean covered it easily. He laughed; an eerily hollow sound.

"I'm faster than you, I'm stronger. You can't escape."

Sam believed it. If this was a regular fight he would have guessed Dean's strategy and movements, could have countered them effectively. They'd been coached together, taught to think the same way in combat situations. In normal circumstances it was one of their greatest strengths, but now he was facing something supercharged and unpredictable as a rattler.

Dean tensed, tight as a spring and Sam got ready to move. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through his system but the years of unique, John Winchester-style training served him well. His head was calm and clear, except for a small voice telling him to wake up. Clearly some part of him still hoped this was nothing more than a ghastly dream but Sam knew better. It was too vivid, had gone on too long and there was nothing he could do except try and survive it. The only thing which really scared him was what he'd have to do to his brother in order to achieve that. That's if his brother didn't kill him first.

A wolf whistle from the catwalk distracted Dean and he pointed at something up in the darkness. Real or imaginary, Sam had no way of knowing.

"Pack your panties, motherfucker. I'm coming for you next."

The promise in his voice was frightening. Sam used the moment of distraction to move away quietly, putting some distance between them but Dean was like an attack dog. He heard the slight scuff of Sam's boots on the gritty floor and his head swung back round.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

Sam gave it one last shot. He raised both his hands, palms up in supplication, trying to appeal to any part of his brother who was still awake in there.

"You're stronger than this, Dean. You can fight it."

Dean grinned and there was blood on his teeth.

"Save your breath, bitch. It's lights out."

He hurled himself at Sam and they crashed into the dirt. Sam tried to remember he was now fighting for both their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

_Alban Springs, Colorado_

_48 hours previously_

**Dean hit the cue **ball hard, slightly left of centre and winced as the rack split into uneven chaos. It was a sloppy break, precisely executed and he leaned his head on the rail of the pool table, playing the moment.

He heard a snort from his opponent and looked up with a sheepish grin.

"Ain't my night, is it?"

The dude shook his head. "You keep laying your money down, son, I'll keep taking it."

He was a stocky fellow, early forties with a full beard and blue eyes which twinkled when he smiled. Dean remembered his name was Al and he seemed like a nice guy. Part of Dean hated scamming a nice guy like Al but business was business and funds were low.

Dean picked up his beer and drained a third of the bottle in one hit, just to reinforce how he was halfway drunk as well as being a crappy pool player. Two guys at the next table finished their game and wandered across, amused by the pounding this stranger was taking. Al introduced them as work buddies, Dave and Rick and Dean guessed they all worked up at the lumber mill. Alban Springs seemed like a typical blue collar, redneck town and this bar was full of guys who looked just like them; plaid shirts, baseball caps and plenty of steam to blow off come Saturday night. It was one of the reasons he'd picked the joint.

Sam didn't like it of course and he glanced to the front of the bar where his brother was sat in a corner booth, glued to his laptop, a barely touched beer in front of him. Sam looked like a fish out of water and Dean grimaced. Sam could fit in just fine when he wanted to but on this occasion he had a point to make, an axe to grind and was royally pissed on top of it all. He might look lost in his geeky computer world but Dean was being watched closely. After the events of this morning he'd have a tough time fooling Sammy ever again.

Al took his first shot and potted a stripe. Then another. He was a halfway decent pool player but lacked the killer instinct. Dean worked on his own strategy as he watched, throwing in enough winces and grimaces to keep it real. There was four hundred bucks riding on this contest but he wanted to make it an even five before getting serious. That meant letting Al win this game: not too easily or he'd smell a rat. Al's third ball bounced off a cushion and Dean sent a couple of spots into their pockets; carefully calculated to look like dumb luck. He couldn't remember the last time he'd played pool for the pure fun of it but forced a convincing grin anyway.

"Maybe my luck's changing, huh?"

Al shook his head amiably. "No such thing as luck in this game."

Dean missed his next shot and cursed roundly. "There goes tonight's motel money."

He straightened and pretended to survey the table critically. He took another slug of beer. He'd started the hustle feigning inebriation but was getting there for real. All it took was three beers on top of prescription pain killers to get the magic working. It was a cheap night out, all things considered, but Sam wouldn't see it that way.

Dean flexed his left shoulder as Al potted another stripe. It barely hurt anymore. It was a little stiff in the mornings for sure, but nothing which prevented him doing his job like a pro. He'd started using the pills when the pain was genuinely bad, then progressed to taking a couple when he needed to stay cool for a job or scam. The way Sam was running his life at the moment, staying cool was a full time occupation. While they didn't always keep the anger and frustration at bay anymore, he hadn't been thrilled when Sam stumbled across them.

Dave headed for the bar and brushed lightly against Dean. He muttered low in his ear as he passed.

"You don't have to leave here broke…"

The dude went on his way like nothing had happened. Dean glanced at his buddy Rick, who tipped him a wink. They were both up for a little action, huh? That was convenient. It wasn't the first time Dean had been propositioned in a bar like this. He'd started out getting offended, used his fists to do the talking then he'd gotten wise to the opportunities.

Al nailed his fourth stripe and Dean considered his options. If he worked this thing right he could walk away with twice the payload. He pretended to study the balls as he sauntered round the table and lounged beside Rick.

"What you got in mind?"

Rick looked straight ahead and his lips barely moved as he spoke. "Come outside with us. There's two hundred in it for you."

Dean kept his voice low. "I don't get out of bed for two hundred. You want a piece of me, it's two hundred each."

"You got it, pretty boy, but we're looking for more than a blow job."

Dean sniffed. "Whatever you say, chief, but you're waiting 'til I'm done here."

Rick smiled "Make it snappy, hot cheeks."

Dean milked the situation for all it was worth. He set up shots which had him leaning far across the table, stood right in front of them while waiting his turn, took provocative sips from his beer bottle and knew their eyes were on him at all times. They kept it subtle and Al was oblivious, or pretended to be. They both wore wedding bands and Dean figured Al was playing the prudent friend. It was the smart thing to do.

He let Al win by a couple of balls, reached into his back pocket and slapped down his last fifty bucks.

"What do you say? One more for the road?"

Al chuckled. "Good job it's a warm night, son."

Al broke efficiently. Dean saw at a glance how he could eight ball him but he'd learned the hard way how the best hustles were covert. No point rubbing their noses in it, they never liked it. Dean might have been spoiling for a fight, but Al wasn't the guy he wanted to roast. He smirked at Dave and Rick and adjusted himself through his pants.

"How about another round, fellers?"

The game was over in fifteen minutes. About the time it took to finish the fourth beer. Dean kept it close, kept it lucky and pounded the table with fake delight when he potted the black. Al took it with fake good nature, though he seemed a little suspicious. Rick slapped him on the back and steered him towards the bar, offering words of support and sympathy. He'd only lost two hundred and fifty bucks after all. He could make it back on overtime.

Dave hung back, eyeing Dean as he counted the pile of money and stuffed it into his pocket.

"We had a deal."

Dean nodded. "I ain't forgotten. Where's it going down?"

Dave jerked his head towards the fire escape. "Use the street door, meet us out back, got it?"

"After I take a leak."

Dean headed for the men's room and took his sweet time. Let the bastards wait on him. He checked the knife in his boot was secure then scrutinised his reflection in the mirror. Damn he looked good. A little scruffy and scratched up for sure, but people dug the look. Rough trade always got the job done, regardless of gender.

Dean would have preferred to get hit up by a couple of chicks but that didn't pay for a tank of gas. He'd never in his life been offered money for sex by a woman, even the trashiest, and sometimes he resented that. They were quick enough to ask _him_ for payment and in moments of levity he pondered what he'd do if a woman really wanted to buy his sexual services. He was pretty sure he'd take the cash and then some…

Dean smirked. This situation was all win-win. He'd make some extra money and get weeks of frustration out of his system. He'd come here to fight and fuck, in that order and an old fashioned, balls to the wall brawl was his number one priority. If he got lucky afterwards, that was a bonus.

He took one final look at himself then sauntered out through the bar. Dave and Rick were already gone. Al was at the bar, drinking off his defeat. He saw Dean and turned his back, still playing the blind buddy to perfection.

Sam lifted his head as Dean approached and slid into the seat beside him. He'd barely drunk a quarter of his beer. Dean picked up the glass and knocked back a few mouthfuls. He wiped foam from his upper lip, pulled the wad of cash from his inside pocket and passed it across surreptitiously.

"Five hundred bucks, Sammy. You impressed yet?"

Sam's face was stony but he didn't ask any dumb questions. He took the money and shoved it in his own pocket.

"Can we leave now?"

Dean grinned. "There's another four hundred coming. Give it a couple of minutes and have the Impala running."

"What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing I ain't done before."

"Those rednecks at the pool table?"

"Yahtzee!"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're scamming _them_? If you think you can handle that kind of fight…"

Dean interrupted. Sam was _really _starting to bug him. "I've been hearing this crap for three weeks and I'm done with it. You ain't my nursemaid and I feel fine."

Sam glared at him. "'Fine? You swallowed a bucket load of prescription meds just to get through the night."

This was taking too long and Dean was getting bored. It was a three week old bullet wound for Christ's sake. Old news. Why couldn't Sam just quit worrying?

"We'll do this later, Sammy. Get in the car and be ready to move."

He strolled through the street door and made his way round back. It was dark and quiet and he headed towards the green light above the fire door. It cast a sickly glow over the cluttered yard. Dave and Rick were waiting and they looked riled.

"What took so long?"

Dean smirked. "Relax fellers. Good times are a coming."

Dave moved forward eagerly and Dean put a hand on his chest.

"Back off, Romeo. Mister Franklin gets first shout."

Dave snorted in frustration but dug in his pocket and handed over some bills. Dean counted them slowly, running his tongue provocatively over his lips as he did so, feeling the lust coming off them in waves. Rick spoke up.

"You tease us much longer, this'll be full on rape."

Dean pocketed the money. He leaned against the brick wall and winked.

"Let's do it."

They moved in quickly and he nearly gagged at the stench of smoke, whisky and body odours which invaded his olfactory senses. Rick clapped a hand against his crotch and yanked down the zipper of his jeans, Dave leaned in for a rough kiss and Dean shoved him away.

"One thing you should know though, I ain't no friggin' rent boy."

The brawl was fast and ferocious. Dave and Rick were pissed and they had every right to be. They wanted their money back, they had every right to that as well but Dean wasn't about to surrender it. He didn't mind being misjudged by guys like this, was mostly amused by it, but he needed a fight badly and this was exactly what he'd hoped for.

They were big, strong and mean looking but were not experienced fighters. They made up for it by being buddies and tag teaming. Even so it was a little one sided and way too easy. Dean took a few hits, barely felt them and he put them down in under a minute. He took quick stock of his injuries: a shiner developing over his left eye, scuffed knuckles and a slight sprain to his wrist. Schoolyard shit. His shoulder didn't hurt at all now.

He pulled ten dollars from his coat and threw the bill on top of Rick. He nudged him with his boot to get his attention.

"Buy your lady something nice, huh?"

Dean took off. Incredibly Sam had followed instructions and was sitting in the car, gunning the engine, high beams illuminating the parking lot. Dean threw himself into the shotgun seat and grinned.

"Easy money, Sammy."

Sam stared at his blackening eye and Dean braced himself for the lecture which didn't come. Sam just pursed his lips, eased the Impala out of the lot and onto the blacktop. They were a good mile down the road before he spoke. Dean was too busy congratulating himself to bother with conversation.

"You got your fight, huh?"

Dean smirked. "Over too soon."

"How much did you feel? Between the pills and the booze?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Give me some credit, Sam; I know how to put down a couple of rednecks."

He saw the lights of a _gas n sip_ approaching and motioned sharply. "Pull over, dude. We need supplies."

Flushed with success, buzzing from the physicality of the fight, Dean stocked up with junk food, whisky, beer and skin mags while Sam gassed the Impala.

Sam's mood didn't get any lighter as they continued down the road to their motel.

"How much of that booze you planning on drinking, Dean?"

Dean glanced at his watch. It was only a little after 11pm. He was on a high and he wasn't about to let Sam's prissy mood bring him down.

"Tonight, my brother, I'm gonna drink whisky, watch porn and surf specialist websites. You got a problem with that?"

Sam scowled. "You're carrying a major injury, Dean. Why can't you deal with it like anybody else? Rest up take it easy?"

Dean sniffed. "I ain't anybody, Sammy. And you ain't exactly innocent in all this."

It was a low blow but it shut him up. Dean was grateful for the silence, however short lived it might prove. They pulled up outside their motel room and Sam was out of the car and unlocking the door before Dean could start gathering the shopping bags.

"This isn't over, Dean. We'll talk in the morning."

Dean didn't care. He had a whole night's boozing ahead of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sam woke before the** alarm went off. He'd slept soundly for almost eight hours which was a minor miracle. Between his own foul mood and Dean's private party for one, which continued into the early hours, he wasn't sure he'd get much shuteye. But the constant worrying about his brother's mental and physical state wrung him out on a daily basis and he was exhausted. Once he'd gotten Dean back to the motel room, where he was unlikely to do anything stupid, he could finally relax. Not a word passed between them, other than Sam improvising an icepack and insisting Dean put it on his eye. He hadn't fancied pointing out some hard truths to his brother while he was half drunk, jacked up on painkillers and riding the high of a risky, pointless fight. It could wait until morning.

Sam got up and threw on his jogging sweats. He needed a run to clear out the last cobwebs of sleep, set himself up for the day and do some thinking. Dean was sprawled on his bed, the same position he'd passed out in, porn mag spread across his chest and a whisky bottle on the nightstand. He'd made good progress into its contents. In spite of the ice, his left eye had blackened overnight and Sam sighed. That would attract the wrong kind of attention wherever they went.

Sam didn't wake him. Mornings did not suit Dean; he was like a bear with a sore head even when he wasn't hungover to hell. Sam decided to let him sleep for another hour or so and snapped off the alarm. On impulse he rifled through Dean's duffle bag, carelessly tossed into a corner, and pulled out the bottle of pain meds. If Dean planned on gulping down any more of those babies, it would be under strict supervision.

He loped through woodland at a testing pace, enjoying the weak sunshine and fresh Colorado air. It was a crisp, early October morning and he found the chill air invigorating. He drew it deep into his lungs and pondered the situation as he ran. Prescription meds were a rare move on Dean's part. His natural resilience and stubborn nature got him through most injuries picked up on a hunt, but a gunshot wound to the shoulder needed serious recovery time. The Winchesters rarely benefitted from professional medical care and this had been no different. Dean got a Bobby Singer patch up special, after the original injury was complicated by a fight. Sam didn't remember any of it on account of having Meg the demon up inside him, and Dean passed it off as inconsequential, despite taking a physical hammering.

Bobby filled him in eventually and Sam was horrified to learn how Meg had shot his brother in Duluth then used the wound to torture him at the scrapyard. Add to that what she'd done to Steve Wandell and Sam had become a walking ball of guilt. Dean hadn't considered it a big deal, pointed out how Sam had no control over his actions, hadn't even been aware of them. Sam doubted Steve would be so accommodating and the thought of the hunter's vicious, futile death was eating him up.

Sam felt responsible for everything these days, even the fight Dean engineered last night was on him. In the best circumstances his brother was a walking pressure cooker, a thousand supressed emotions boiling up inside and ready to blow at any moment. Factor in three weeks of relative inactivity and the mix became lethal. The brutal physicality of the hunting lifestyle was usually enough to keep Dean sane, allowed him to purge his internal demons in a way he considered legitimate. When the job didn't fulfil his needs, all hell was likely to break loose.

While they'd been hunting steadily since Dean's injury, and they both wanted it, Sam deliberately picked easy cases; simple salt and burns mostly. Dean needed time to heal and on the odd occasion he found something more challenging, Sam found watertight reasons to delay the job. The lack of occupational therapy had obviously gotten to his brother and some not so innocent rednecks had paid the price.

Sam could deal with that, could even deal with the subterfuge surrounding the painkillers. What he couldn't handle was the doubt. How many pills did his brother need to get through the day? How much was the wound bothering him? Did he need proper medical care? None of those issues had been addressed when he'd accidentally found the bottle yesterday morning. He'd been turning out the contents of Dean's duffel, looking for clean socks of all things, and Dean had walked out the shower and been confronted with the evidence.

He'd dealt with it in typical fashion, snatched the bottle away and told Sam he was looking at a serious beat down if he ever went through his shit again. He'd stated bluntly his shoulder was fine, it wasn't Sam's business and they had a job to finish. So they'd ganked the ghost, driven a few towns over and checked into another motel. The only time he saw Dean take any pills was right before they went out for the evening and he figured that was okay. It had been a rough day and he was almost prepared to let the matter drop when Dean's reckless behaviour at the bar brought all the issues back into focus.

A sign announcing the end of the forest trail loomed before him and Sam pulled up. He'd covered a lot of distance while his thoughts were occupied and he glanced at his watch. It was after 7.30; time to turn back and attempt to talk some sense into his brother. He picked up coffee from the motel diner and took it to their room. Dean hadn't moved in the time he'd been gone, but now he was snoring loudly. Sam slapped at his feet and placed the Styrofoam cup on the nightstand beside him.

"Wake up, Dean. It's gone eight."

Dean mumbled something incoherent but didn't stir. Sam grabbed the magazine from his chest and swatted him round the head.

"I'm going to shower, there's coffee next to you. "

Dean opened his eyes and squinted blearily. "Remind me why I'm getting up? What _riveting _ D-lister you got lined up for today?"

Sam stared at him, irritated. "That depends how many magic pills you'll need to pull it off."

Dean groaned. "Can I at least get up before you start in on the self-righteous bullshit?"

He reached for the coffee and winced. "Dammit."

Sam nodded smugly. "Shoulder's hurting, huh? That fight must have done it the world of good."

Dean sat up and scowled. "You weren't complaining about the four hundred bucks I made on it."

Sam was incredulous. "I'd rather have my brother in one piece."

Dean grunted dismissively. "Stow it Florence, I'm good."

Sam had heard enough. "Just drink your coffee and get ready to move."

He went into the bathroom, locked the door and pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket. He smirked. Let's see how good Dean felt when he couldn't find his best buddies.

Ten minutes later he was back in the bedroom. Dean was methodically ripping his duffel bag apart, throwing its contents onto his bed. Sam rattled the bottle.

"Looking for these?"

Dean's head whipped up and his eyes narrowed. "I told you what'd happen if you went through my shit..."

Sam wasn't remotely scared. "I'm not saying don't take them, just be honest with me. Does your shoulder still hurt that much? Is it tough getting through the day without them?"

Dean got right up in Sam's face. "You are _not_ my fucking shrink. Give me the damned pills."

Stale whisky and body odour wasn't a pleasant combination and Sam wrinkled his nose. "You need to shower, dude. You stink.

Dean glared and his eyes slid down to the bottle in Sam's hand.

"When I come out, one way or another I'm taking those back."

He left the threat hanging in the air and stalked into the bathroom. Sam packed up his stuff then sat at the table and braced himself for the fight he knew was coming. Dean was in the shower a long time. When he came out he dumped his soggy towel on the floor and rummaged through the pile of clothes on his bed.

"You know what? Keep the friggin' pills. I don't need them."

Sam watched him dress, watching carefully for evidence of discomfort. Years of tending injuries had taught him exactly what to look for; subtle signs which his brother's bravado and bullshit couldn't hide. To his surprise though, Dean didn't show any. His shoulder was stiff and he winced slightly as he pulled on a clean tee shirt but otherwise he seemed fine.

Dean knew he was looking. "You got a boner yet?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Most dudes like watching clothes come _off_."

He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, talking mostly to himself in a low monotone. "I don't need pills to shower, or dress, or eat, or drive, or fight or work a friggin' case."

Sam snorted. "Really?"

Dean straightened up. "You want me to prove it? I'll kick your sorry ass left handed."

Sam was baffled. "If you don't need pain meds for pain, then why?"

Dean gazed at him, considering something. Eventually he spat it out. "I like it, okay? I like the feeling. It takes the edge off."

Of all the things Sam was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Take the edge off what?"

Dean ran his fingers through his hair. He was on unfamiliar ground and struggled to explain something which came perilously close to a genuine feeling.

"You've got us playing Ghostbusters when we should be ganking demons and it's driving me nuts. One more trainer case and I swear I'm gonna explode. You've gotta believe me when I say I'm fine."

"Dean, you _always_ say you're fine, even when you can barely stand."

"Trust me on this one, I'm good." Dean stood up and frowned, reading the worry in Sam's eyes.

"I ain't no hop head, bro. Find a proper case and I won't need the pills. Simple as."

He began stuffing his gear into the duffel bag, dirty clothes going in right alongside clean. Sam watched, surprised by his brother's rare bout of honesty. It explained some things, but not everything.

"If they help you simmer down, what happened last night? You were spoiling for a fight the moment we walked into that bar."

Dean stopped packing and turned to face him.

"There's only so much I can take, man. I mean, if I don't get a proper workout a couple of times a week, pills or no pills something's gotta give."

Sam knew exactly what he meant. "You're a physical guy, I get that. You need to blow off steam…"

Dean nodded his approval and he sounded smug. "You're saying I'm badass."

Sam stood up and reached for his bag. "I'm saying you could go to the gym, like regular people."

Dean barked out a laugh. "You kidding me? Gyms are for pussies." He grabbed the whisky from the nightstand and pointed at the label. "This is the only kind of gym I need."

Sam sighed. He was looking at a bottle of Jim Beam. Dean stuffed it into his bag and zipped it up. He hoisted it over his shoulder.

"Are we good?"

Sam nodded. "We're good, I guess."

He meant it as well. Now the whole mess was out in the open, his worst fears allayed, he felt like they could move on. Dean wasn't getting the pills back though; self-medication was off the menu.

They dumped their stuff in the car and grabbed breakfast in the diner. Sam ordered a bran muffin and ate it one handed as he trawled the net on his laptop, searching for a case which Dean would consider challenging enough. Dean was occupied with stuffing a greasy fry-up into his face and Sam knew he wouldn't be fobbed off this time.

"Okay, we got a possible poltergeist in Missouri…"

Dean's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Seriously? If this is another ghost hunt it had better be Jesse friggin' James."

Dean had so much food in his mouth he almost spat some out. Sam was mortified and glanced round the diner, hoping nobody else had seen. Dean's eyes widened.

"What?"

Sam shook his head. "Sometimes I can't believe we're even related."

"Right back atcha, muffin top."

Sam returned to the laptop. "…an immaculate conception in Tucson, Arizona… Uh, scratch that. Make it three conceptions."

That got Dean's interest. "When's _Day of the Dead_ going down?"

Sam checked the date. "Three weeks from now."

"Put it on the to do list. I've been meaning to crash that party for years_._"

Dean drank coffee as Sam continued working. He drummed his fingers on the table, fidgeted in his seat and whistled until Sam could bear it no longer.

"You wanna go wait outside"

Dean's face was a picture of virtue. "I'm good."

He was beckoning the waitress for another refill when his cell phone rang. He smirked and slid out of the booth.

"Guess it's your lucky day, huh?"

He wasn't gone long and when he came back his manner had changed from plain irritating to wired.

"Saddle up, bro. That was Bobby."

He slapped a road map on the table and pored over it.

"Two hunters got a vamp nest locked down in North Platt, Nebraska. They need our help."

His finger traced the delicate network of roads from Alban Springs to the new location.

"If we shag ass we'll be there around one. Break up the slumber party and have us a little gank fest. What do you say?"

Sam packed his laptop away. "I say let's do it, if you're sure it's what you want."

"Are you kidding?" Dean turned his face skywards and held his arms out wide.

"This is a gift from heaven."


	4. Chapter 4

**Dean filled Sam in** as they drove, though there wasn't much to report. The hunters who'd called in their help were Nathan Myers and Toby Jones. Neither registered on the Winchester radar but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The world was crawling with brothers-in-arms they'd never met and Dean liked to keep it that way. Bobby had kept it short; vouched for the pair of them as being of good reputation, given Dean the address of the meet point and hung up.

They were approaching Scottsbluff, Nebraska when he began feeling antsy. They'd been on the road almost two hours and he cast a sidelong glance at Sam in the shotgun seat. His brother was wide awake, bent over the roadmap and plotting the fastest way to North Platt. Dean knew the bottle of pills was in his coat pocket, had watched Sam stash it there while pretending not to notice or care. Now he was stuck with the task of getting it back. He nudged the heater up higher; perhaps he could smoke the damned thing off his brother…

He could be upfront and just ask for the meds but that wasn't his style. It would open up another can of worms and he really couldn't handle the lecture Sam would lay on him, not to mention the doe-eyed looks of concern and quiet research of addiction websites when he though Dean was asleep.

Sam had just about bought his story back at the motel and Dean almost believed it himself. He'd honestly though a challenging, dangerous case would sort his head out and get him back in the game. While the prospect of ganking a nest of vampires was exciting enough to get his pulse racing and the Impala's speedometer hovering around ninety, the underlying anger and frustration was still present.

Dean knew why the feelings wouldn't go; he was stubborn but not stupid. The bar fight had been momentarily satisfying but come morning, nothing had changed. Short of confronting Sam on key issues involving trust, truth and loyalty, which was never going to happen, he was stuck with the problem. He'd tried to deal with it the same way he'd done all his life; keep it quiet, bury it deep, add as much liquor as necessary to keep it there and hope it eventually went away. Except this time the nagging doubt wouldn't budge. Then he discovered the magic side-effects of the painkillers.

Dean liked them: they made him feel good and pushed all the issues into a safe place where he could ignore them. When he was loaded he could pretend everything was okay. Sam _hadn't _shot him in the shoulder three weeks ago, _hadn't_ shot him in the chest with a salt-loaded shotgun in Rockford last year… Whichever way he looked at it, Sam had tried to kill him twice already and it really didn't matter what monster was pulling his strings.

Deep down, Dean knew Sam hated him, even if Sam didn't realise himself yet. He felt it instinctively and the knowledge was slowly killing him. He was hardwired to protect his brother and he could never change that. They'd be chained together until the final confrontation and Dean would die because there was no way he'd ever be able to pull the trigger on Sam. Part of him wanted to cry, a bigger part wanted to punch his brother's lights out. He wasn't about to act on either urge anytime soon.

_Dammit _he needed those pills.

He forced some jocularity into his voice. "Ready for a pit stop? All that coffee's banging on the door…"

"Sure." Sam didn't look up from the map and didn't budge when Dean swung the Impala into a gas station. He was still sitting in the car when Dean came out the can so he moved to Plan B. He bought up a pile of road food, loaded it into paper bags and carried them to the car. He tapped the back door with his boot.

"A little help here, Sammy."

Sam sighed. "Why'd you buy all that crap? It's gonna kill you."

Dean stared at him, his heart hammering. Maybe his awareness was skewed but he could've sworn Sam just said _I'm gonna kill you_.

Sam got out of the car, his face full of concern.

"Dean, what's wrong? You're white as a sheet."

Dean shook his head. "Just get the door, will you?"

He thrust the bags at Sam and as he turned to put them on the back seat, lifted the pills deftly from his coat pocket. He headed for the men's room fast and Sam called after him.

"Where are you going?"

Dean waved a dismissive hand. "Too much grease for breakfast."

Sam would go for that, wouldn't ask awkward questions about how much breakfast got yakked up into the John. He hurried inside, shook two pills from the bottle and swallowed them dry. They'd take about ten minutes to kick in and he stared at himself in the mirror. He was pale and sweating. He used his sleeve to wipe the sheen from his forehead then splashed cold water onto his face. His hands were shaking.

Dean knew this thing wasn't going anywhere good and he needed to kick it before it got in the way of a job. He owed it to himself to deal with it like a man and decided to flush the pills down the nearest toilet… once the vampires were taken care of.

He felt light headed as he walked back to the car and not-so-graciously accepted Sam's offer to drive. He didn't want his hyper-intuitive brother smelling a rat. He felt chilled enough to doze in the shotgun seat while the Impala ate up the miles. By the time they hit North Platt he was right on top of his game; wired, alert and ready for action.

He directed Sam to the address Bobby had given and Sam eased the Impala down a long dirt track which opened into a yard. There were decrepit farm buildings surrounding it, a beat-up truck and dusty SUV outside one of them. Sam pulled up alongside. Dean slid the clip from his Colt .45 semi and checked it was full before getting out of the car. He tucked the weapon down the back of his pants and Sam was watching him.

"You sure that's necessary?"

Dean shrugged. "Bobby knows these guys, I don't."

Nathan Myers and Toby Jones must have heard the rumble of the V8 because they came out the nearest barn, all smiles and handshakes. Dean sized them up as Sam made the introductions. They were older, he'd put them mid-forties with the jaded, calculating look of men who'd been doing the job too long. When he was bored with the pleasantries he barged into the conversation.

"You two worked together long?"

Nathan shot him an irritated look. "You always this rude?"

Dean bristled and Toby put himself between them. He smiled easily. "Me and Nathan been partnering a couple of years. We like to think we got most things covered but this vamp nest we found, there's gotta be twenty of the bitches inside."

Dean grinned. "Party time."

Nathan looked at him appraisingly. "Think you're up to it?"

Dean arched an eyebrow and Nathan shrugged. "Heard you got shot up in Duluth a few weeks back."

Dean smirked. "Where'd you hear that, Betty? The girls' toilet?"

"Don't matter where I heard it. Is it true?"

Dean eyed him coldly. "Last I heard, you called _us_ in on this. If you got doubts you can shove 'em up your ass and we'll be on our way."

Toby was between them again, voice calm and placating.

"Come on now, save the fighting for the bad guys. Dean, Sam, come inside and have a cold one. We'll show you what we've got and work out a strategy, huh?"

Beer sounded good and Dean followed them inside, Sam bringing up the rear. He kept his right hand close to his pistol as Toby led them through the main body of the barn. It smelled of rotting straw, stagnant water and horses. The roof was open and leaking and there were a few wooden partitions still standing among a lot of fallen and rotted wood. He realised this place had once been a stable.

Toby opened a door at the far end of the barn and ushered them into a smaller space, probably the old tack room. The roof was intact, it was dry and considerably warmer and the hunters had set up shop efficiently. Two airbeds were pushed against the walls and there was a gas heater turned up full. A table and chairs stood in the centre of the room and Dean spotted a case of beer in the far corner. Toby motioned him forward.

"Help yourself."

Dean scoped out the table as he passed. It was strewn with maps, books, pizza boxes and empty cans; the usual hunting paraphernalia. There was something off about it though; something missing and he tried to figure out what it was as he stooped to snag a couple of brews. It came to him in a flash. Where were all the damned weapons?

He found out a second later as something heavy slammed into the back of his head and knocked him sprawling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dean hit the floor** hard and almost blacked out. He clung to consciousness grimly as his vision darkened and blood pounded in his ears. When he tried to move, his limbs wouldn't respond properly. He felt his coat being dragged off and the pistol removed from the waistband of his pants. He was searched roughly and efficiently. The knife was taken from his boot; switchblade, brass knuckles and lock picks from his jeans. His arms were pulled behind his back and he felt cold metal on his wrists, heard the familiar snap of handcuffs locking shut. Finally he was rolled over and Toby was grinning down at him.

"That was way too easy."

Dean scowled. "Your momma's easy, I was blind-sided."

Toby kicked him in the ribs but Dean barely felt it. He smirked.

"You gonna tickle me to death?"

Toby kicked him again and Sam started shouting.

"Shut _up_, Dean, for Christ's sake."

How could he have forgotten about Sam? He struggled to sit upright and looked round the room, his vision taking a second too long to focus. Sam was near the table; Nathan a few feet behind with a shotgun aimed at his head. The whole scene looked like something out of a shitty B-movie and he opened his mouth to make another crack then thought better of it. No sense taking more hits than necessary. Nathan prodded Sam with the gun.

"Take your coat off, big boy. Drop it on the floor."

Sam hesitated, looking round with confused eyes. Toby kicked Dean in the back, just below the kidney. That one hurt and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

Nathan chuckled. "Take as long as you need, but your brother won't enjoy it."

Sam's coat was off in a heartbeat and he tossed it to the ground.

"Every weapon you got, on the table now."

Sam moved forward like a big, dumb ox and Dean glared at him.

"Don't you friggin' do it, Sammy."

Sam glared right back. "I'm not watching them kill you, Dean."

He threw his knives and picks on the table and Dean cursed silently. The idiot hadn't held anything back. Nathan seemed satisfied.

"Atta boy. Now give me your wrists."

Sam put his hands behind his back and allowed himself to be handcuffed. Dean felt Toby's boot in his back.

"On your feet, soldier."

He got up with as much grace as he could muster. He stared at Toby and Nathan, genuinely baffled by their actions.

"If all you're good for is hunting your own, it's time I put you down."

"_You_?" Toby sniggered. "_You're _ the easiest hunt we've had in years."

The truth stung and Dean smarted. How in hell had he managed to walk into such an obvious trap? Toby nudged him forward.

"Start walking."

"Where we going? Somewhere exotic?"

Toby shoved him harder but Dean didn't budge.

"I'm in the mood for Tijuana."

That earned him a slap round the head. "Shut your mouth, smartass. You're going to meet the boss."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. How many more of these bastards were involved? He was reluctant to leave Sam with Nathan and held his ground until Toby lost patience. He grabbed Dean's collar, marched him across the room and shoved him out into the barn. The door slammed behind them. It took Dean's eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light and he blinked round in surprise. Five minutes ago the place was empty; now he counted three dudes, one chick and none of them looked friendly. He recognised the youngest guy as a hunter and he was getting a _really_ bad feeling. Force of habit made him play it cool; years of practice made it convincing.

"What's this? Hunter's convention?"

"You might say that."

It was the woman who spoke and Dean focussed on her. She was about his age; dark, athletic and borderline hot. In better circumstances he'd have hit on her in an instant. There were a hundred pick-up lines on the tip of his tongue but the look in her eyes stopped him dead. He'd seen it before; couldn't pinpoint exactly what it meant but it made him twitchy and cautious.

"Guess my invite got lost in the post, huh?"

"You're here aren't you?"

She approached him, loose and easy. "Dean Winchester. I heard you were pretty but words don't do it justice."

She ran a fingertip lightly across his bruised eye. "How'd you get this, champ?"

"I got a thing for frisky women."

She leaned in close and kissed him hard. Dean was too shocked to do anything but fight his dick's urge to respond. That would be downright embarrassing in front of so many dudes. Eventually she released him, her face slightly flushed.

"That was fun. We'll do it again."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Do I get a say in it?"

Clearly he didn't because she stepped away and beckoned Toby closer. Now she was all business.

"What was he packing?"

Toby laughed. "A goddamned arsenal if you ask me. He's clean as a whistle now."

She nodded, appraising. "Match fit?"

"He's good to go."

Dean scowled. "Hey, I'm standing right here."

Toby continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"He's a cocky son of a bitch but he takes the hits like a pro. I clocked him with a friggin' sawn-off and he didn't go under."

"What about the rumours?"

Toby shrugged. "You want me to check?"

She considered for a moment. "I don't think he'd appreciate that. He'll need some special handling."

Dean had heard enough. Two assholes discussing him like he was a trainer pony was more than his dignity could handle. He couldn't get out of the cuffs but his legs were good to go. He gave Toby the stink eye.

"Let's do it, grandpa. I'll kick your sorry ass." He glared at the girl. "Yours too, hotlips."

Toby snorted dismissively but she clapped her hands in delight. "Isn't he fantastic?"

Nobody else seemed to agree. She nodded at two of the other men.

"Hold him steady."

Dean tried to make good on his threat. He launched himself at the approaching strangers, planning to use his body as a battering ram, but they were fast and wily. They simply stepped to either side and grabbed his arms as he lunged forward. He struggled until a fist landed in his guts, then he struggled to breathe. When he'd got his shit together the chick was standing way too close.

"You put on a good show, Dean."

"Bite me."

"I'll do better than that."

Her hand cupped his crotch and squeezed. Dean tried to back away and the grip on his arms tightened. He sneered.

"We moving into non-con now?"

She grinned. "He's still packing, Toby. How the hell did you miss _this_?"

Toby sniggered and Dean's face reddened. "You want the goods so bad, how about we discuss hire terms?"

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "But you're already mine, honey. When I want you, I'll take you."

Dean snorted. "What'll it be? Straps or chains?"

"Your choice, stud."

She released the grip on his jewels and pulled up his tee-shirt. He heard her quick intake of breath.

"So it's true…"

Her fingers traced the vivid scar on his shoulder.

"Does it bother you?"

Dean shook his head. "Good as friggin' new."

Toby pulled a familiar looking bottle from his pocket.

"These were in his coat. High end painkillers; surgery-level strong."

She took the bottle and Dean breathed easier as she got out of his personal space. She examined the label closely.

"What are they for?"

Dean smirked. "PMS is a bitch."

"Bullshit comes easy to you, doesn't it, Dean?"

"Perk of the job."

She pocketed the pills. "You'll feel different when you've gone a few rounds with my boys."

She glanced round the group of men. "Who's in?"

Every hand in the room was raised and Dean stared, wondering what he'd done to piss so many people off.

"What happened to ladies first?"

"Oh I'll be taking my turn. Maybe first, maybe last, I won't spoil the surprise."

Dean snorted. "Fight and fuck, huh? That's original."

She giggled. "You still get all the fun, Dean."

Dean understood the look in her eyes now. Over the years he'd met a few hunters playing short of a full deck, but this was the first woman he'd encountered. That made her unpredictable at best, Gordon Walker grade psycho at worse. He didn't know which end of the spectrum he was dealing with and while that was scary enough, the idea of getting screwed by her was downright terrifying. He kept his game face on.

"You got a name? Sadist bitch don't exactly roll off the tongue."

She didn't react to the insult. It was like she'd been waiting for him to ask.

"It's Suzie, hon. Suzie Wandell."

Dean struggled to remember where he'd heard that name before and she helped him along.

"You don't know me, but your brother was on intimate terms with my daddy."

Realisation hit like a sledgehammer. This was the daughter of Steve Wandell, the hunter Sam killed three weeks ago. She was out for revenge _and_ she was batshit crazy. Friggin' awesome.

Dean feigned shock. "Sam's gay? I always knew something was off..."

She smiled sweetly. "Nice try."

She jerked her head towards the rest of the gang.

"Get him settled in the van. I need a few moments with little bro."

That was enough to make Dean see red. He made a lunge at Suzie and was immediately overpowered. He snarled at her instead. "You lay a finger on him and I'll fucking kill you, I swear to God."

She patted him gently on the cheek. "Sammy's safe as houses, slugger. But you hold onto all that anger. You're gonna need it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sam sat on a** plastic chair and watched Nathan Myers go through the pockets of his coat. His wallet, switchblade and cell phone were tossed onto the table and Nathan grinned as he removed the SIM card from the phone.

"Don't need GPS tracking, do we?"

Sam answered flatly. "Eat me."

The grin widened. "Smart mouth runs in the family, huh?"

He finished his search and tossed the coat aside. Sam frowned; he was certain Nathan had missed something. Realisation hit him like a freight train and he cursed silently. Where were the damned pills?

He worked it out in a heartbeat. Dean with all those friggin' bags at the gas station, the quick dash to the men's room… For all his glib assurances and easy promises, he was still using and he'd lifted that bottle like a conniving junkie. His brother was high as a kite, which explained his dumbass jibes towards Toby and lack of pain when he paid for them. God only knew what hole he was digging for himself next door.

Sam had seen a group of people waiting in the barn as Dean was shoved out, listened to voices coming through the closed door but couldn't make out anything specific. He'd heard Dean shouting a minute ago, which meant he was at least conscious, then everything went quiet.

Nathan sat in the chair opposite and levelled the shotgun. Sam gazed at him coolly.

"What are we doing"

"We're waiting."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Hallowe'en or Thanksgiving?"

Nathan leaned forward and jabbed him with the barrel of the gun.

"Speak when you're spoken to."

Sam shut up and waited. He didn't wait long before Toby came back into the room, followed by a young, dark haired woman. He craned his neck to see into the barn through the open door, but there was no sign of Dean or anybody else. The chick smiled.

"Don't worry about your brother, Sammy. He's doing fine."

"It's Sam." He scowled at her. "If you hurt him I'll rip your friggin' lungs out."

That only served to amuse her. "You Winchesters are so alike it's downright scary."

She motioned Nathan to vacate his seat, flopped down and scrutinised him closely.

"They say the camera never lies, but you're much finer in the flesh."

Sam had no idea what she was talking about. He spent most of his time actively avoiding cameras. She read his uncertainty.

"CCTV, Sam. Ring any bells?"

Sam's stomach flipped. There was only one bell ringing in his head right now and it was deafening him. He played his best poker face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She grinned. "Come on, you knew you'd been papped. Why else would you total my old man's computer?"

Sam stared at her, appalled, watching a smile play at her lips.

"That's right, honey. I'm Suzie Wandell and it's a real pleasure to meet the man who slit my daddy's throat."

This was worse than anything he could have imagined. Sam struggled to find the right words and failed miserably. "I can explain…"

She held up a finger to silence him. "No need. I saw what happened and I saw how you tried to cover it up."

She dropped him a wink. "Word to the wise, Scooter, hard drives are tough little bastards. Next time you trash a computer, take a hammer to it, huh?"

Sam's memories of the night in Steve Wandell's house were sketchy. He'd been in shock after watching himself kill the hunter in cold blood, and Dean had done most of the cleaning up. He vaguely recalled his brother throwing the computer on the floor and putting his boot through it. If he'd been on his A game, rather than fighting dizziness and nausea, he'd have done the job properly. Not that he blamed Dean for any of it. Dean shouldn't have been there, wouldn't have been there if Sam hadn't screwed up, run away and let his guard down.

Suzie picked up his switchblade, flicked it open and scratched at the table top. Her voice was like treacle.

"Hunters cross each other all the time, it comes with the territory. We don't play well together…"

She shot a glance from under her fringe.

"What did he do to piss you off, Sam? What was so bad you needed to ice him?"

Sam's mouth went dry as a bone.

"It wasn't me. I mean, it was _me_ but I was possessed by a demon called Meg. She killed him for kicks."

He shook his head, knew how lame that sounded.

"She even had me…"

He pulled up sharply. She didn't need to know what Meg had done to Dean. Suzie didn't seem bothered either way.

"I don't care about the whys. You killed my daddy, now it's time for payback."

Sam's heart was racing. "Fine. It's me you wanted, you got me. Let Dean go, he had nothing to do with it."

She laughed like he'd just made a killer joke. "You kidding me? Your brother's the star turn in this little show."

Sam stared at her. "What the fuck?"

Suzie dug the switchblade harder into the table, scoring it deeply. She kept her eyes fixed on it as she spoke.

"The idea of watching your closest kin get butchered is bad enough, but to see it happen remotely, on a friggin' computer screen is like hell. You want to do something, you _need_ to protect them but all you get to do is watch. You feel helpless, powerless, responsible…"

Her voice tailed off as she struggled to control her emotions. It came back hard and steady.

"You're going to feel everything I felt, Sam. You're going to watch Dean fighting, hurting… You might even get to see him die but you won't be able to do a damned thing about it."

Sam lifted his chin defiantly. "Don't be so sure."

Her expression had been guarded but now it became feral. The shutters lifted from her eyes and they flashed with something he recognised immediately.

"How long you been off your meds, Suzie?"

She responded by pulling something from her pocket.

"Let's trade secrets. How long's Dean been on these?"

She held up the bottle of painkillers and Sam shrugged, playing it casual.

"We keep 'em around for emergencies. He was hungover to hell this morning; guess he needed something for the road."

"Nothing to do with the shoulder, huh?"

She tucked the bottle away and winked at Toby. "How long before lover boy's begging for these babies, huh?"

Toby sniggered and Sam felt a rush of anger. He fought the urge to jump up and attack, which would be a pointless, painful exercise. Instead he put as much threat into his voice as he could muster.

"The worse you make it for us, the worse it'll be for you. You should remember that."

He looked directly at Suzie. "Especially you, psycho bitch."

She laughed. "That's just what big bro said. You fellers must be telepathic."

She waved a hand at Nathan and Toby.

"Take him to the car. I'll finish up here."

Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller before flipping it open. Her face turned stony and her voice dropped to a growl.

"Where the hell are you? You were supposed to meet us…"

Toby and Nathan grabbed Sam's arms and hauled him upright. Suzie was still talking and she sounded pissed.

"I don't _care_ what else is going on. Nothing's more important than this…"

She listened for a moment, tense and irritable.

"That's bullshit. When I make a plan I see it through, you should know that…"

She noticed Sam staring and jerked an impatient thumb at Toby. The two hunters pulled him across the room and through the door but he caught the tail end of the conversation.

"I'll text you the address of the other place. Get in your car and start driving _now_. Don't make me come get you."

Sam couldn't begin to guess who was on the other end of the line, but it really didn't matter if an extra hunter was about to join them. Whichever way you looked at it, he and Dean were royally screwed.

He was taken outside to the SUV. Nathan held the shotgun on him while Toby unlocked the cuffs and pushed him into the front seat. He threaded them through the armrest on the door then re-cuffed Sam's wrists in front of him. It was a short chain and there wasn't enough slack for him to move his hands any more than an inch. He couldn't even scratch his nose. Toby pulled a heavy canvas bag over his head and slammed the door shut. He heard footsteps in the gravel outside, felt the SUV rock on its suspension as the two men got inside and something hard tapped the back of his head. Nathan's voice came from behind him.

"Just in case you get any smart ideas, shotgun's right here."

Sam quickly lost track of time. He attempted to memorise the route they were taking but wasn't familiar enough with the area. He knew when they'd reached the interstate as the SUV picked up speed, but it wasn't enough to go on. The bag over his head muffled sound and made it hard to breathe. It was hot, smelly, scratchy and soon became torturous. He knew he should be working on a plan but he couldn't concentrate. He felt sick to his stomach, his mind looping on what might be happening to Dean and he couldn't handle the images his mind was offering him.

All this was his fault and the guilt was eating at him like a disease. His head began to spin and he really needed to puke. He controlled his breathing and got the unpleasant sensations under control by focussing on the moment. After that he stayed in the moment; he needed to save his strength for when it was really needed.

Not long after the SUV slowed. It rolled along a bumpy, uneven surface for about half a mile and then pulled up. The engine was switched off and Nathan tapped the gun against Sam's head again.

"Play nice, sonny."

The cuff on his left wrist was removed briefly then re-attached. The bag stayed over his head as he was guided across rough terrain. Sam felt mud squelch under his boots, smelled rain on the air and wished to God he'd never left Colorado.

He was led up some squeaky stairs, which flexed alarmingly under their weight, then held in place while the cuffing process was repeated. Finally the bag was tugged from his head and he clamped his eyes shut against the harsh intrusion of light.

"Enjoy the view, Skippy."

Nathan and Toby took off and Sam gulped in cool air, savouring the freshness until an acrid smell invaded his nostrils and he grimaced. What was that? It smelled like Bobby's scrapyard and he opened his eyes cautiously.

He was looking at a circular concrete construction which stood twenty feet high and measured roughly thirty feet in diameter. It was hollow inside and resembled a dank, gloomy pit. Sam was handcuffed to the metal guard rail which ran round the top of it. The pit was inside a large wooden building which had seen better days. The walls had once been brightly coloured but now the paint was faded, peeling and completely gone in some places. There were holes in the roof and Sam felt a light spray of rain on his face. He looked behind and saw rickety stairs leading down to a set of double doors. One of them was half open but all he could see outside was a flat expanse of mud. He turned back to the pit, picking some bleached-out words from the upper section of concrete.

Wall of Death.

Now he knew where he was, understood why the smell of oil and gasoline was so ingrained in the place. This was an old carnival attraction. Once upon a time, men had ridden motorbikes round that pit, centripetal force holding them steady as the machines climbed high up the wall. An eager crowd at the top would cheer them, kids staring in wonder as though it were some kind of magic…

All magic had deserted this place. Now it was just Sam, an over-ripe imagination and a belly full of dread. He yanked at the cuffs but the rail was solid as rock. He twisted his wrist enough to see his watch and discovered it was close to 3pm. It meant this place was approximately two hours from the original meeting point but the information was of no use whatever. Sam had no clue where he was.

He gave up trying to escape after ten minutes then waited another twenty before feet tramped up the creaky stairs. Nathan had swapped his shotgun for a low calibre rifle and Toby was carrying something in a black leather case. Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. Suzie was close behind them and a younger guy brought up the rear. He was about Dean's age and build and Sam recognised him as a hunter called Tim Matthews. He was sure Dean worked a case with this dude a couple of years back.

The presence of so many hunters confused Sam. He understood Suzie's animosity, it was her daddy got killed after all, but he couldn't figure what axe the rest of them were grinding. He nodded at Tim and got a blank stare in return. Suzie sniggered.

"You're not exactly flavour of the month round here."

Tim was decidedly unhappy. "Suzie showed us what you done; I seen it with my own two eyes. Hunters ganking other hunters is plain wrong."

There was a southern twang to his voice and Sam recalled he came from Kentucky. He opened his mouth to contest the statement but Tim had more to say.

"You've gotta pay for what you did, man. It's kinda sad because Dean, he's a decent guy. He shouldn't be suffering on your account."

This time Sam embraced the white hot anger which swept through him like a flash flood. He yanked at the handcuffs viciously, trying to pull the guard rail from its fixing points.

"Dean's got nothing to do with this you son of a bitch. You got a problem with me, we'll settle it man to man."

Tim shook his head. "Don't work like that."

Sam snarled at him. "Fucking coward."

Suzie was watching with keen interest. "You Winchester boys sure got some anger issues."

He glared at her. "You don't know the half of it."

She smiled. "Just simmer down, big guy. The fun's about to start."

Nathan cocked his rifle and held the weapon casually, but its barrel was pointing into the pit. Toby unzipped the case he was carrying and pulled out a video camera. That was pointed the same way.

Sam stared in horror. Were the sick bastards about to shoot Dean and film it for posterity? The rifle looked like a .22, maybe not powerful enough to kill him outright at this range, but it would do a lot of damage. Suzie's eyes flashed with relish.

"You feeling it yet, Sammy?"

His attention was drawn back to the pit as a door in the wall banged open and Dean was shoved inside. His hands were cuffed behind his back and there were some new bruises on his face. Two men followed him in; tough, grizzled customers with a distinct weight advantage and hunters for sure. Tim scooted downstairs and moments later the door was pulled shut and locked, trapping all three inside.

Dean was looking around. He seemed nothing more than curious but when Sam shouted his name his head whipped up.

"Sammy? You okay? Did those fuckers hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Dean. They've got a rifle on you up here, looks like a .22."

"Girl Scout gun." Dean snorted dismissively. "Who's packing? I'm guessing it's that pussy Nathan."

The butt of the rifle rammed into Sam's ribs and there was nothing Girl Scout about it. Nathan's voice was cool and business like.

"Open your trap again and I'll shoot your brother in the leg. Got it?"

Sam nodded, all the wind knocked out of him. Nathan glanced at Suzie.

"We still waiting on sissy?"

Suzie shook her head. "Screw her. The bitch can watch on playback."

She called down into the pit.

"This is a little warm up for you, Dean. See how you do in a fair fight."

Sam stared at her, incredulous. "This is fair to you?"

She shrugged. "It's the best odds he's getting."

Sam couldn't even guess at the outcome of this contest. Dean was one of the best close combat fighters he'd ever seen; if this was him against two regular guys there would be no doubt in his mind. But Dean was jacked up on drugs and hunters knew every dirty trick in the book. The odds weren't looking good…

Suzie clapped her hands briskly. "Let's get this party started."

One of the bruisers unlocked Dean's handcuffs and dropped them to the floor. Dean rubbed his wrists as he sized up his opponents and began circling slowly. He took off his shirt, pulled his belt from its loops and coiled it tightly round his right hand. Finally he flashed them an insolent smile.

"Bring it on."


	7. Chapter 7

**Dean circled the hunters** slowly, sizing them up. He kept smiling, showing no fear because he honestly wasn't scared. They were bigger and heavier than him, but he was young and fast. He was also itching to beat the crap out of them.

These assholes tormented him in the back of the van for hours while Tim Matthews, somebody he'd considered an okay guy until now, drove them to God knew where. They made him sit on a bench in the back of the vehicle, chained his wrists to an eyelet in the roof and pulled a bag over his head. Then they provoked him with every taunt and insult in the book. Nobody and nothing was spared: Dean's family, friends, skill set, intellect, sexuality, character and reputation was ridiculed and derided with imagination and relish. Especially his family…

He'd given as good as he'd got at first, but each smartass retort earned him a punch or kick. He couldn't see them coming, couldn't brace against them and they hurt. His left shoulder was a popular target and after three direct hits he shut up. It wouldn't stand more damage and he needed it in one piece for whatever was coming.

His silence didn't stop his tormenters. They kept poking and pushing, trying for a reaction but Dean bit his tongue and stayed silent. Even that earned him a few random cuffs. He satisfied himself by burning every one of their words into his memory; they'd pay for them later.

And how he'd gotten his wish; locked in a pit with the men he wanted to destroy. The last dose of painkillers had mostly worn off and he was thankful for that. The comedown always made him tense, edgy and aggressive, but it also sharpened his senses and instincts. There was too much adrenalin in his system for any recent injuries to register and he was eager to get started, put these bastards down as painfully as possible. He was finally getting the fight he'd wanted for three weeks and he eyed his opponents frankly.

"This don't end 'til somebody's in the morgue. You know that, right?"

He meant every word. Dean didn't often kill humans but they'd crossed the line. Hunters gone bad were the worst kind of monsters in his book. This was no different to ganking any other kind of creature.

They weren't remotely fazed by his warning and one of them laughed.

"You talk a good fight, pretty boy."

Dean shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

They were watching and signalling each other. He guessed they'd try and charge him, take him to the floor. If that happened it was all over so he kept moving, kept some distance between them. Dean had a few ideas of his own and backed up until he came across the handcuffs lying in the dirt. The moron who'd removed them from his wrists had forgotten to lock them and he smiled. That was a mistake they'd pay for.

As he stooped to snag them he heard a voice shout from the gallery above.

"Put them down, Winchester."

It sounded like that asshole Nathan. He could fuck himself as well. Dean yelled right back.

"Screw you."

A bullet whistled past his left ear and he ducked away, heard it embed in the wall behind.

"I said put them down."

"And I said screw you." Dean put the cuffs in his back pocket and turned in the direction of the shot. He spread his arms out wide, presenting an easy target.

"You wanna shoot me? Go right ahead, I got nothing to lose."

No shot came, as he'd expected, but the distraction was nearly his undoing. He heard boots scuffing and saw the hunters hurtling towards him, side by side, intent on crushing him against the wall.

Dean's reflexes saved him. He jumped aside and let the nearest man run onto his fist; embedding his face on the leather belt covering his hand. He felt a cheekbone snap and heard the grunt of pain. Dean broke his nose with a second punch then drove the heel of his boot into his kneecap. The man's right leg collapsed and he fell awkwardly in the dirt. Dean kicked him in the temple but it didn't connect as hard as he'd intended. His buddy probably saved his life by choosing that moment to barrel into Dean and knock him sprawling.

The blows came quickly, his ribs and back taking the brunt as Dean rolled. He kept rolling, trying to get his feet under him and finally succeeded in getting some traction. He scrambled up and launched himself at his opponent. He grabbed him round the waist in a flying tackle and used his weight to wrestle him to the floor. He straddled the man and landed several brutal punches to his face before a knee jerked up and rammed him twice in the kidney. The impact, rather than the pain, knocked him off balance and he was thrown clear.

The man lurched after him, tried to get on top and reverse the tables, but he was groggy and slow. They both stumbled to their feet but Dean got there first and delivered a right hook to the man's jaw. It knocked him flat on his ass again. Dean kicked him in the balls, rolled him over and ground his face into the dirt. He punched him in the kidney and snarled in his ear.

"That's for what you said about my family, asshole."

He pulled the handcuffs from his pocket, dragged the man's arms behind him and locked them, pushing the ratchet mechanism tight. He stood up, breathing hard and looked for the guy he'd put down earlier. The guy found him first.

A fist connected with the side of his face and he staggered. The man got behind him, got a grip on his upper arms and slammed him against the wall with rib crushing ferocity. Dean tried to twist round but the man's bulk was pinning him tightly. Fingers wound into his hair, mashed his face into the stonework and blood began pouring from his nose. He struggled and fought, had a third conversation with the wall and managed to get his left hand behind him. He got a grip on the man's nuts and yanked with all his strength. The dude screamed and backed off, clutching his sack. Dean wiped blood from his nose and punched him in the mouth, hard enough to knock out a couple of teeth. He buckled, went down and Dean kicked him anywhere he could get at. Black dots were dancing before his eyes and he heard voices from the gallery, ordering him to quit. He spat blood on the floor and laughed.

"It's what you wanted isn't it? Don't pussy out now."

He turned back to the semi-conscious man at his feet. He was going to break his neck; then he was going to gank his buddy. Dean's mind was clear and focussed. There was no doubt there at all.

He heard a shot ring out a fraction of a second before something hard and hot punched into his left side, just below the ribs. The impact knocked him backwards and he lost his footing, went down in the dirt. Nathan's voice echoed round the concrete pit.

"Stay down, Winchester. The next one goes through your lung."

Dean stayed down. He'd proved a point and won by a country mile. They'd be more careful who they threw at him next time.

He pulled up his tee shirt, looking for the bullet wound. All he could see was blood. The door to the pit clanged open and Toby stalked towards him, holding a shotgun. Dean smirked.

"Come to try your luck, Doris?"

Toby hefted the gun.

"Not today, you crazy son of a bitch."

The stock of the gun slammed into Dean's head and knocked him senseless.

**He woke to the** sound of his name spoken insistently, over and over. He ignored it. It was only when he realised the voice belonged to Sam that he tried to respond. It was slow going. His eyelids wouldn't obey his brain's command to open and when they finally did, light speared his eyes. He threw up an arm and pain seared across his side. He groaned and cursed as memory returned.

"They shot me. What the hell?"

"Don't move." Sam's voice was right next to him. "I've got it."

Dean felt pressure below his ribs and pain flared again. He winced and dropped his arm, let Sam's face come into slow focus.

"How long was I out?"

"A while. They dragged you from the pit and dumped you in here."

Dean forced a grin. "Home sweet home, huh? Wherever the hell that is."

Sam didn't smile. Something was burning in his eyes.

"They made me watch you bleed for fifteen minutes before they let me in."

Dean didn't get it. "Why?"

"Because they…" Sam was having trouble getting the words out. "This is about me, Dean. They're punishing me by hurting you."

He sounded choked and Dean glared.

"Don't you pull a guilt trip on me, Sammy. I've got this."

Sam wouldn't meet his eye. He dabbed at the bullet wound with a bloody rag and Dean realised it was a piece of his shirt. He glanced down at himself.

"How bad is it?"

"Just a scratch." Sam smiled wanly. "You've had worse."

He placed Dean's hand over the rag. "Keep pressure on it. The bleeding's nearly stopped."

He stood up, tense as a rattler about to strike. Dean stayed put and assessed his injuries. He was battered and bruised, sore and aching, probably had a concussion but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He was lying on a hard bunk with a thin mattress and no blankets, one grade up from the floor, and Sam was watching from under his fringe.

"I'm sorry you got shot, Dean. I…"

"Shut up, Sam."

Dean sat up gingerly and gazed round, taking in his surroundings . They were inside an actual cage. Steel bars made up the walls and roof and it was erected inside a larger building which smelled of age and damp. Weak light filtered through dirty skylights and it was cold and empty. He figured it was some kind of warehouse, or used to be. Sam was staring into the gloom.

"Somebody out there?"

Sam shook his head slightly. "Not anymore."

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, man. You took a pounding in that pit."

Dean put a hand to his nose, it came away sticky with blood. He felt it cautiously but it wasn't broken. That was something, at least

"What happened to those other bastards?"

Sam hesitated for a moment. "They went to the hospital."

Dean grinned and punched the air with his fist. "Who's king of the ring, huh?"

Sam's expression was inscrutable. "You beat the crap out of them, Dean."

"Wasn't that the point?"

"I guess… I don't know."

Dean frowned, trying to fathom his brother's thinking.

"You feel sorry for them? They get the hospital, hot nurses and painkillers; I get shot and thrown in a cage. What the fuck, man?"

Sam shrugged and irritation prickled up Dean's spine.

"Are you taking their side? Are you judging me?"

"Of course not. They put you in there, you had no choice..."

He left the words hanging and Dean got carefully to his feet.

"You got something to say? Spit it out."

Sam spoke quietly. "You were out of control, Dean. You would have killed them."

"So?"

"It was frightening, man. It wasn't you."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "What friggin' planet are you on? You think they didn't deserve it?"

Sam shrugged again and Dean fought to control an anger which was threatening to engulf him. He was tense, wired and _really_ needed to hit something. Listening to his brother, all he could hear was self-righteous bullshit.

"How about next time I _reason_ with the fuckers, huh? See how that goes."

Sam glared. "Screw you, Dean."

Those three words pushed him over the edge. The anger Dean had bottled up for three weeks, the anger he couldn't escape no matter how many people he punched, came spilling out.

"You know what? We're both screwed to hell and whose fault is that?"

Sam went rigid and the blood drained from his face.

"You saying this is on me? I was _possessed, _you son of a bitch."

The words came out like bullets but Dean wasn't buying it anymore.

"Maybe you should have fought a little harder, Sammy. Maybe that way you wouldn't have friggin' shot me in Duluth..."

Sam grabbed him and slammed him against the bars of the cage.

"You want to blame me for that? Fine. But who's to blame for the pills, huh? Who's to blame when you go full-blown psycho 'cause you don't get enough, or nearly friggin' OD? Who's to blame when you lie and cheat and steal to get your fix?"

Dean pushed him away.

"Shut up, or I'll break your jaw."

Sam backed off but only a little. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"You can't handle the truth, Sam."

Sam's eyes flashed. "Try me."

"You want me dead." Dean's voice came out as a menacing growl. "Don't deny it; you've tried twice and I don't give a damn about spirit possession or demon possession. Deep down you wanted it or you wouldn't have let those things pull the trigger."

All the fight went out of Sam. He looked utterly defeated but Dean carried on regardless. He was on a roll; all the fears and doubts of the past few weeks spewing into reality.

"Those pills help me forget my own brother hates me enough to kill me."

Sam's jaw dropped open in shock. "Christ, Dean. When did you get this messed up?"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Tears pricked at Sam's eyes. "How can I reason with a junkie?"

Dean pulled up his tee shirt, displaying the raw gash below his ribs.

"Did you do this, huh? Did you pull the trigger, Sam, 'cause it sure as hell fits your MO."

Sam charged without warning; shoved him with enough force to knock him down then leaped on top of him. Dean struggled and cursed but the recent fight had drained him of strength. Sam overpowered him and pinned him to the floor. Dean glared.

"You want me to say Uncle?"

Sam glared right back. "I'm not your enemy, Dean. Don't you get that? Don't you remember all the times I've _saved_ your sorry ass?"

"Get the hell off me, Sam."

Sam didn't budge. "We're in a shit storm of trouble here. We need to stick together and fight what's coming for us, not each other. Stay with me, Dean; we'll work the rest out afterwards."

The blinding anger was ebbing and Dean got a flash of clarity, felt a pang of guilt.

"It's the pills, man. They're screwing with my head; I can't think straight anymore…"

That was the closest Sam was getting to an apology and he knew it. He got up and pulled Dean to his feet.

"Look at yourself, man. You bottle this stuff up, drink too much, let it fester then act surprised when you lose the friggin' plot. Why can't you just talk about it?"

Dean stared at the floor. "You ain't my shrink, Sammy."

The door of the warehouse banging open effectively closed the conversation and for that he was profoundly grateful. Six people came inside and Dean gripped the bars of the cage, watching them approach. Suzie was leading the pack, Nathan and Toby flanking her with shotguns. Tim was there and Dean spotted two new faces, as mean and grizzled as the ones he'd recently put down. He smirked.

"More lambs to the slaughter? That hospital better be on standby."

Nathan eyed him coldly. "We'll give you something more challenging next time."

Suzie was looking him over appreciatively. "On your feet so soon, Dean? I'm impressed."

Dean sneered at her. "Get fucked."

She clapped her hands in mock delight. "The boy's a mind reader."

She nodded at Tim and he produced a set of handcuffs.

"Tim's going to cuff you to the bed. Act up and little bro shits lead for a month."

Nathan cocked his gun and pointed it into the cage. Sam's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?"

"Big bro didn't tell you?" Suzie's gaze swung across to Dean. "You knew this was coming, didn't you stud?"

Dean had somehow managed to blank it out; never thought she'd actually go through with it. His stomach twisted; this was so much worse than facing down two hunters in the pit. He glanced at Sam and forced a smile.

"Psycho bitch thinks she's going to screw me. Can you picture that?"

Suzie laughed. "He doesn't have to picture anything. Little Sammy here gets to watch."


	8. Chapter 8

**Sam honestly hadn't thought** this nightmare could get any worse, but Suzie had just upped the ante considerably. As if being forced to watch Dean in the pit hadn't been bad enough, now he was supposed to watch his brother get raped as well?

He was still reeling from what he'd witnessed barely half an hour ago. Dean's chances had seemed remote but he'd put up the mother of all fights and gotten the upper hand. Until the kill switch failed to engage. Then he'd become vicious, deranged and intent on committing murder; more like something they'd hunt than a human being. Sam had been shocked and profoundly disturbed by the transformation. Dean had been outnumbered plenty of times before, always ran the gauntlet between honourable intent and self-serving gratification, but he usually knew where to draw the line. Especially with ordinary people, however much they might deserve it. The only explanation was the pills; screwing with his head to the point he couldn't tell right from wrong and Sam barely recognised his own brother.

He felt responsible for that. Dean wouldn't have started using if he hadn't gotten shot; Suzie Wandell wouldn't have come looking for revenge if Sam hadn't screwed up… Whichever way he looked at it, he was the root cause of every bad thing that had gone down in the past three weeks. This latest development was just the icing on the cake.

He pushed the anger and burgeoning guilt into the hole where he'd kept it locked for the past few hours. He'd kept a lid on it when Dean get shot and knocked unconscious, hadn't gone postal when he was forced to stand for fifteen minutes, watching his brother bleed... He got through it by telling himself how one of them needed to stay in control; alert and actively seeking a means of escape. Sam hadn't found one yet, but he'd keep looking.

He'd managed to get a look at his surroundings as Toby and Nathan led him from the pit and across a tract of muddy ground to the warehouse. They looked to be in an abandoned carnival ground; broken down rides, graffiti and decaying buildings everywhere. It was bleak, desolate and isolated; they were unlikely to be disturbed or accidentally discovered. Hauling their asses out of this sorry mess was going to be one supersize challenge, but both their lives depended on it. Dean might be the current focus of Suzie Wandell's vengeance, but Sam knew he wasn't far behind.

The rattle of a key drew his attention back to the cage. Tim was unlocking the door and Dean was watching; his expression mutinous and every muscle in his body tensed.

"You walk through that door, pal, you ain't walking out again."

Sam joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He put as much menace into his voice as he could muster.

"Think you can take us both, Tim?"

Tim eyed them warily and turned to Suzie. "I ain't going in there."

"You're a damned coward, you know that?" She pulled a pistol from the back of her pants and aimed it at Sam.

"Move away from Dean or I shoot."

Sam shook his head. "You're not coming anywhere near him."

She dropped the muzzle of the gun and fired into the floor. The bullet missed Sam's foot by a few inches and he swore and jumped aside.

"The next one goes through your knee."

Sam stood his ground and glared defiantly. Dean spoke quietly.

"This ain't worth getting crippled over."

Sam glanced at him, surprised. "The hell it's not."

"I can handle that bitch."

"How?" Sam struggled to keep his voice low. "You're just gonna roll over and let her ra…"

He balked at saying the word out loud. It made the whole thing too real, too inevitable. Dean grabbed his shoulders. His face was set, his eyes hard. He spoke quietly but forcefully.

"It's just sex, Sammy. There's no way you're taking a bullet for me."

Sam tried to push him away but he didn't budge. "You're not doing this, Dean. It's too much…"

"You got a better plan?" Dean dropped his voice even lower. "It'll buy us some time. Use that gargantuan melon of yours to figure a way out of this. I'll just close my eyes and pretend it's… I dunno, Kate Winslett."

He grinned confidently but Sam could read him like a book, no matter what cover he put on it. Right now Dean was crapping himself. Suzie tapped on the bars with the gun.

"Huddle's over, fellers. You going to play nice?"

Dean scowled. "You're wearing the strap on."

She beckoned to Sam. "Over here, big boy."

He approached reluctantly. She had him turn round and put his wrists through the bars of the cage. Tim locked on the cuffs and Suzie pressed her gun into the small of his back. Dean stood motionless, watching impassively but his fists were clenched tight. Suzie thumbed back the trigger.

"Don't be a hero. Play ball or Sam gets it."

Dean's eyes glinted with danger. "I play hardball, lady. Just so you know."

"Stow the macho bullshit, Dean. Just do as you're told."

She nodded at Tim. He unlocked the door and approached warily.

"Get on the bed, hands behind your head."

Dean's expression was murderous but he obeyed the order. Tim cuffed him to the headboard of the bunk then stood back, shifting nervously. Dean watched him coldly.

"This is what I get for saving your ass in New Orleans?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm sorry man, I didn't know…"

"I was in the hospital for a week." Dean's tone was scathing. "Remember saying how you owed me big time? You got some fucked up ideas about payback."

Tim stared at the floor and Sam suppressed a smile. Dean had identified the weakest link in the gang and was putting in a little preliminary work. Unfortunately, Suzie spotted it as well.

"He's yanking your chain, Tim. Get out of there now."

Dean smirked. "Listen to teacher, you pussy whipped sack of shit."

Tim's face went red but he didn't move. He remained in a state of flux until Suzie marched inside, grabbed him by his coat and shoved him out. She turned to the rest of the men.

"I need some alone time with the boys."

She waited until they'd all left the warehouse then tucked the pistol into her pants. Her eyes went from Dean to Sam and back again.

"Two Winchesters on lockdown; aren't I the lucky one?"

"Screw you, bitch."

They snarled the words in unison and she lifted an appreciative eyebrow.

"I knew you guys were telepathic."

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a finger down Dean's cheek. He didn't flinch, just looked her right in the eye. She traced the bloody, ragged bullet wound and breath whistled between his teeth. He still didn't move.

"You throwing in some S&M with the bondage?"

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What the fuck, Dean? You trying to put ideas into her head?"

Suzie's head whipped round. "Shut up, Sam, or you'll be spitting teeth."

Sam yanked the cuffs in frustration. Why couldn't Dean keep his mouth shut? Why did he poke and provoke like it was a matter of pride to take whatever beating was laid out on the table? Like he wasn't beat up enough already…

Physically he was exhausted from the fight; emotionally he was a train wreck. The psychological repercussion of forced sex was something he might not be able to handle and Sam could see the fallout of that in Technicolor. The coming months of drinking, drugs and denial mixed up with silence, secrets and pathological meltdowns… They'd walked that path before, always managed to get things back on track but this time he wasn't so sure.

He attempted to reason with Suzie, keeping his voice calm.

"He's not up to this. Give him time to get over the fight."

She ignored him; straddled Dean and he grunted with pain. When he looked at Sam, there was dread in his eyes.

"Don't watch this."

Sam stared at the floor. He had no desire to watch his brother getting raped, but sick curiosity pulled his eyes back to the bed. Suzie was running her hand through Dean's hair.

"Don't be frightened, honey. I want you to enjoy this."

Dean didn't respond but his face was a mask of revulsion. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a bottle and shook it gently.

"How about some candy to help you settle, huh?"

With a shock, Sam realised what she was wafting under his brother's nose. It was the painkillers and Dean was looking at them like a dog in a butcher's shop. He opened his mouth to protest; tell Dean to resist, then thought better of it.

Suzie was watching Dean closely. "How many do you need?"

Dean snorted. "Try the whole friggin' bottle."

"Be honest, Dean. We're in OD territory here."

Dean looked like he was about to say something smart then thought better of it. "Three gets the job done."

"There you go. That wasn't so hard."

She shook out the pills and offered them to him. Dean hesitated and threw a questioning look at Sam, almost like he was seeking approval. But this wasn't Sam's call. Three doses of high octane medication seemed excessive but if it helped Dean get through the ordeal, who was he to object? He shrugged helplessly and Dean winked at Suzie.

"Got any Jack to wash 'em down?"

She patted his cheek gently. "I want you pliant, not comatose."

She fed him the pills then sat beside him to wait. They both knew when the morphine kicked in because all tension left Dean's body. His eyelids drooped and his jaw went slack. Sam called his name, had to call it several times before he got a reaction. Dean rolled his head slowly and blinked at him.

"You gotta try this shit, Sammy. It makes all the bad stuff go away."

His words were slurred, his pupils the size of dimes. Suzie seemed satisfied with the result and when she climbed back on top he gave her a dopey smile.

"Hey Sugarlips; you look a hell of a lot better now."

She slapped his face and he grinned. "Now you're talking."

Suzie had her hand on Dean's fly when Sam closed his eyes. It was like witnessing date rape with his brother the roofied and unwitting victim. His heart was pounding, charged by frustration, anger and fear. Blood was rushing in his ears, blotting out any sounds from the bed and for that he was grateful. He got the shock of his life when a female voice rang through the silence of the warehouse.

"Suzie? What in hell are you doing?"

Sam's eyes flew open. A woman was standing at the door of the cage. For a second he thought it was Suzie then realised the doppelganger was a little leaner, a little older and dressed a hell of a lot smarter. Other than that they could have passed for twins. Suzie leaped off Dean like she'd been shot. She actually seemed embarrassed.

"You said you weren't gonna make it."

"Looks like I made it just in time." The newcomer approached the bed and studied Dean. "Why's he handcuffed? What have you done to him?"

"She ain't done nothing yet." Dean considered for a moment then snickered softly. "There's a song in that somewhere…"

The woman looked at Suzie sharply. "You drugged him? Seriously?"

"What do you care? These are the Winchesters; neither of them are worth a crap."

Suzie turned to Sam, her voice loaded with sarcasm. "Meet my sister Kate. She's been itching to get a piece of you."

"The man who killed our daddy, huh?" Kate scrutinised him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Can't say I'm thrilled to meet you, Sam."

She was cool, sardonic and Sam tensed. Physically she was a few grades up from Suzie; psychologically she might be just as unstable. He had no way of knowing. He decided to give honesty a shot.

"I'm sorry about your daddy but I was possessed by a demon. She controlled me, used me to kill him and I don't remember any of it. After that she made me shoot Dean, my own friggin' brother. Go check his shoulder and you'll see."

"A demon?" Kate shot a hard look at Suzie. "You didn't mention any demon."

"What does it matter?" Suzie sounded defensive. "This bastard murdered our daddy and I don't give a shit who was wearing him. All I know is that he's gonna pay."

"What happened to mitigating circumstances?"

Suzie was incredulous. "Seriously?"

Kate pulled Dean's shirt up gingerly. He opened his eyes and his gaze shifted slowly between the two women. He seemed confused, then he looked euphoric.

"I'm cuffed to a bed with the Double Mint twins? There is a God."

Kate stiffened as she took in the bruises all over his body. The older bullet wound was barely noticeable alongside the recent one, which was bleeding again. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the injury.

"He should be in a hospital."

Suzie snorted. "Not gonna happen."

"Then go get the medical kit. I know you keep one the size of Hollywood in your trunk."

"I'm not wasting supplies on him."

"Do as you're told, dammit."

Kate's voice was harsh and boded no argument. Suzie glared for a moment them stomped out of the cage, pouting like a teenager. Sam considered the implications of the exchange.

"She listens to you, huh?"

"Sometimes." Kate turned back to Dean. "He's a mess. What happened?"

"Your sister locked him in a pit with two heavyweights." Sam couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "She shot him, fed him drugs and was all set to rape him. Real nice kin you've got there."

Kate looked at him appraisingly. "Suzie isn't exactly the full ticket but she's got a point. Why should you get away with murder, Sam?"

Sam yanked at the handcuffs in frustration. "She's hurting me by hurting Dean and he had nothing to do with it. Punish me however you want but for Christ's sake let him go. He doesn't deserve this."

The sound of his voice roused Dean from his stupor. "Shut your pie hole, Sammy. It's my fault we're in this mess. I didn't clean up properly."

Sam frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?"

"You're the one getting out. Don't matter what happens to me, I'm not important…" Dean's voice tailed off. His moment of clarity was over.

"He's got a low opinion of himself." Kate sounded amused and Sam bit back a retort. Dean's self-worth issues were none of her concern.

"You two are hunters?"

Sam blinked at her, surprised. "You're not?"

"Got out when I was twenty. I went to college, got a regular job but Suzie decided to stick with it." Kate shrugged. "She wasn't always like this. She was a feisty kid, full of dreams and ambitions… Hunting fucks everybody up eventually, if it don't get them killed first."

Sam felt a pang of nostalgia for the life he'd briefly tried to live. "I tried to get out as well, went to Stanford for a couple of years but…."

"But?"

Sam gazed at Dean, comatose on the bed. "My brother needed me."

"You two are close, huh?"

"We look out for each other." Sam forced down an unexpected surge of emotion. "I'm truly sorry about your daddy; ours got killed by a demon a few months back."

"How?"

Sam wanted to shrink away from the memory but it seemed important she knew this.

"Dean was dying. He made a deal with a demon called Azazel, traded his life so Dean could live."

He was half expecting Dean to chip in again but his brother was in a better place right now. The bullet wound was still leaking and Kate looked at it doubtfully.

"Can you patch him up?"

"If Suzie lets me at him." Sam smiled sourly. "We're both going to die unless somebody stops her; you know that, right? Do you want that much blood on your hands?"

Kate considered for a long moment. "Jury's out on that one, Sam."


	9. Chapter 9

**Dean paced the floor** of the cage, battling the emotions which were threatening to overpower him. He felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation and, from the look on Sam's face, his brother knew it too.

The dose of painkillers Suzie administered had worn off hours ago. Dean's watch had gotten broken in the pit but last time he'd asked Sam for the time, it was past midnight. A full moon filtered through the skylights, bathing the cage in cool, white light and its angle had shifted significantly since then. He didn't dare ask Sam again though. His brother would wonder why it was so important at the same instant his super-size brain skidded into the first base of certainty. Dean didn't want to get back into that particular conversation.

He knew his body was adjusting to the drugs; the highs were getting shorter while the downtime was increasingly hard to bear. It might not have been the smartest move to toss down three pills, more than he'd ever taken in one hit, but he'd honestly thought he was about to get raped in front of his brother, the humiliation worse than the violation, and the only way he could handle that was to get wasted. Once he was under he was barely aware of anything but now he was left feeling wrung out and dislocated; a few sketchy memories rattling inside a brain which was consumed by finding a way to its next fix.

Fix was an ugly word, made him sound like a junkie and wasn't that exactly what Sam accused him of right here in this cage? Ugly or not, though, it was just a word. Words he could deal with; the simmering anger and frustration, coupled with the desperate, devouring need for more pills was only going to end up one way. Bloody.

It would be easy to take this out on Sam, the only target within range, but Sam wasn't a target: couldn't be. None of this was Sam's fault, though the way he refused to meet Dean's eyes told a different story. They'd both said some regrettable things during the earlier fight, but Dean's reckless words, designed mostly to hurt, had hit their mark squarely. He wanted to call Sam on it, remind him in no uncertain terms who _really_ fucked up the Steve Wandell case, but he didn't trust himself to say it right. He didn't want this fragile peace, this moment of calm before the gathering storm to deteriorate into another in-house brawl so he kept his mouth shut and watched Sam beat himself up in silence.

Dean wanted to fight, needed to fight, but he was saving that for the bastards who really deserved it. By focussing his rage on the casual, calculating brutality of his tormentors, anticipating his fists smashing the frustrations of captivity, he could just about stay rational. It also allowed him to contain the worst, most insidious emotion; the one capable of taking him out completely if he yielded to it. Dean Winchester didn't acknowledge fear, simple as that. He'd learned to twist and contort it into something he could use constructively. Whenever he felt threatened he'd deftly turn flight into fight and go on the offensive with all guns blazing. It worked well for him, let him deal with danger effectively; especially those situations which involved protecting Sam. And really, wasn't protecting Sam the only thing that had ever mattered?

The threat of something bad happening to his brother however, something he had no power to control or prevent, was potentially incapacitating. Just thinking about it made his knees go weak and his stomach churn. His mind swerved away from it with the screech of rubber on blacktop and he stole another glance across the cage.

Sam was perched on the edge of the bunk, taut as a rope, gazing out into the shadows of the warehouse with his eyes fixed on the door. Dean knew why. He'd gotten a brief rundown of events while he'd been away in cuckoo land, learned how the arrival of an older, saner sister had saved both his virtue and further blood loss, but he didn't share any of Sam's optimism in the small acts of mercy. He stopped pacing for long enough to offer his brother some insight.

"She ain't gonna help us, man. Give it up."

Sam didn't move. "I thought I'd gotten through to her."

Dean snorted. "She'll side with her sister, that's how it works."

"It's how _we_ work, Dean. It's not a universal truth."

"Smell the coffee, dude. The only way out of this is you and me."

Sam didn't even look at him. "Have a little faith."

Dean's mouth quirked with amusement. Faith and Nebraska were inexorably bound together in his world. Holding hands, singing nursery rhymes and skipping merrily towards nowhere good.

"Last time I got a look at faith it looked like a reaper. I wasn't far off dying that time either."

That got the kind of reaction he was after. Sam's head whipped round and his eyes were blazing.

"You're not dying, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "How long 'til the next fight?"

He didn't need to elaborate; they both knew he was unlikely to leave the pit a second time with nothing more than bruises and a superficial bullet wound. Sam glanced at his watch and frowned; gazed at Dean for a long moment before replying.

"How are you feeling?"

Dean flexed his body experimentally. He was stiff and aching; the stitches in his side felt sore and tight but his brother had performed an effective patch up job. He'd proven incapable of lifting anything useful from the loaned medical kit, but Dean didn't call him on that one either. Sam claimed he'd conducted the first aid at gunpoint and Dean believed it. He offered a confident grin and threw a few shadow punches.

"I'm good to go, Sammy. Float like a butterfly, sting like a badass, huh?"

Sam didn't smile. "That's not what I meant."

Dean leaned against the bars of the cage and crossed his arms defensively. He knew where this was headed.

"You charging by the hour, Doctor Freud?"

Sam scowled. "It's a simple question, Dean."

Dean's fuse was a damned sight shorter than usual these days and he bristled at the accusation in his brother's tone.

"What do you want me to say? That I feel great and everything's peachy? How I honestly believe, in spite of _all_ evidence to the contrary, that some chick on a unicorn is gonna ride through that door and save our asses?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It ain't happening, dude. Pretty soon things are gonna get bloody and I don't need you screwing around inside my head."

For a moment Sam looked like he was going to press the issue but then he closed his mouth with a snap. He stood up and motioned at the bunk.

"Then a least get some rest."

Dean knew that was out of the question with his body's insistent, incessant demand for drugs. His instinct was to swat Sam away with a smartass comment, but he recognised the gesture of compromise and peace keeping. He stomped ungraciously towards the bunk and threw himself down. He winced and cursed as the action jarred his injuries and felt Sam's eyes on him, full of remorse. It made his skin crawl. He put his hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance, and kept the irritation out of his voice.

"What's on _your _mind, Sammy?"

Sam coughed and shuffled, studied the floor for a spell and finally spat it out.

"When you were… uh… tripping, you said something about not cleaning up properly. What did you mean?"

Dean wracked his memories for the exchange and came up empty, which was hardly surprising. He looked sharply at Sam, panic fluttering at the edges of his mind.

"Whatever I said, I didn't mean it, okay? I was off my fucking tits."

Sam shot him a wan smile. "You were trying to help, Dean. Trying to tell me how this isn't all my fault."

Dean sat up quickly. "It's _not_ your fault, Sammy. You keep thinking like that and I swear to God, I'll go nuclear on your ass."

Sam shook his head, dismissing the statement, but his words had shaken loose a fragment of memory and Dean tracked it back to the night in Steve Wandell's house. He recalled trying to destroy the evidence of Sam's crime while worrying about the clean-up operation and battling with shock, nausea and crippling concern for his brother. Most of that night was a blur and he'd done his best to repress the things he remembered with clarity, but one incident refused to stay down. That's the one he'd unwittingly blurted out while riding the high of too many damned painkillers. He added it to the rapidly expanding list of bullet points beneath the heading: _reasons to flush those fuckers down the nearest crapper_.

Sam coughed again, drawing his attention back to the uncomfortable atmosphere in the cage. His brother was expecting some kind of answer and God knew Dean owed him one. His fingers worried at the bandage covering the bullet wound as he struggled to find the right words.

"That night at Steve Wandell's place… you were out of it. You'd just watched some demon wearing your body murder a man and it shut you down. I was supposed to take care of that mess and get us the hell out…"

Dean hunched forward on the bunk, massaging his temples as the memory pulled into sharp focus.

"That damned computer, man… I threw it on the floor, put my boot through it but it wasn't enough. I should have gotten the hard drive and tossed it into a lake, not left it there for somebody to salvage."

He looked up at Sam, met his eyes squarely.

"I put myself in that pit, Sam. If I'd cleaned up properly nobody would have known what went down so you take every piece of guilt in your head and you lay it on me, okay? I should have known better, I fucked up and I got us into this."

Sam was staring at him incredulously.

"Christ, Dean, why do you put everything on yourself? Why do you throw yourself in front of everything bad?"

Dean shot him a lop-sided smile. "Because it's my job."

He looked away as Sam approached; anticipating a chick flick moment which he really couldn't handle in his current frame of mind. He felt Sam flop down on the bunk beside him, felt his brother's shoulder bump against his own in a show of unity. When he finally spoke, Sam's voice was subdued.

"I don't deserve a brother like you."

Dean snorted. "Can I get that in writing?"

Sam's arm snaked around his shoulder and pulled him close. Dean went with it, fighting the instinct to squirm away. He didn't do this kind of thing well but Sam needed it so tried to relax into the embrace. This close he could feel Sam trembling and that was most definitely not a good thing. He glanced across at his brother.

"What's up, man?"

It took Sam a while to respond and Dean could hear his breath hitching.

"You said some things, Dean…"

Dean had said a lot of things and he waited; mouth dry and heart hammering while Sam worked up to an elaboration. Eventually he spat it out. "Do you really think I hate you enough to kill you?"

Dean froze. He remembered saying that while he was hurting, jonesing, angry and confused. He couldn't take it back.

"I told you, man, it was the pills talking. But…"

Sam's hand on his arm twitched reflexively. "But?"

"I showed up on your doorstep at Stanford. I pulled you out of a life you'd built for yourself, a _better_ life, and dragged you back into this fucked up mess we call home. If you hate me for that then I get it. I wish to God I'd had the strength to go after Dad on my own but I… I couldn't do it alone, man. I needed help and you were the only one I could turn to."

Dean felt himself tensing, trying to draw away and Sam's arm clenched tighter round his shoulder; holding him close. He continued hesitantly, trying not to choke on the words.

"Now Dad's… He died for me, Sam and I don't even know where to start dealing with that. You're all I've got left, man; if I lose you, push you away or you somehow… change, then the game's up. Everyone I care about will be gone and what the hell's worth living for then?"

Dean caught the rising swell of emotion and forced it back down. It was a sign of weakness, it wasn't his thing. He'd shared more with Sam than he meant and it left him wide open and vulnerable. He wasn't accustomed to feeling so exposed and put that down to the drugs. They were making him sloppy; boring holes in his carefully constructed defences and letting flashes of honesty through. He didn't like it; it was another reason to quit and he added it to his mental list. He shoved Sam's arm aside, stalked across the cage and laid his head against the metal of the bars.

"You think you're the only one who feels that way?"

Sam's voice was rock steady and Dean turned to face him, frowning.

"I lost Jess, man. There was nothing for me back at Stanford; that life was over. I needed to find Dad just as bad as you and I'm still trying to figure out how to survive without him. One thing's for sure though; I couldn't go on without you either, Dean."

Dean stared at him and Sam smiled.

"If you weren't such an emotional retard, you'd know this is a two way street."

Sam looked like he was about to say more but the grinding clank of the warehouse door opening got both their attention. Sam leaped up and peered through the bars of the cage, way too eager, and Dean took his place on the edge of the bunk. He wasn't giving those bastards the satisfaction of a reaction. He couldn't see who was approaching as they were carrying a lamp and his eyes, accustomed to shadows and moonlight, were having a hard time adjusting. It wasn't until they were right outside the cage that he recognised Tim; loaded with food boxes, water bottles and a plastic bucket. There was a woman standing beside him, holding a camping lantern. She looked enough like Suzie for him to do a fast double take before he realised this was the sister, Kate. She raised the lamp higher, casting its light across the bunk and Dean knew he was being scrutinized. After the near miss with Suzie, the attention made him uneasy and apprehensive but he didn't let on. He stared right back at her.

"You want me cuffed to the bed as well?"

His tone was mocking but Sam whirled round to face him, his eyes blazing.

"Shut the fuck _up_, Dean!"

Dean ignored him, his eyes still on Kate. "Well?"

She shook her head slightly. "Not my style."

Dean could tell by the way her gaze lingered on him, appreciative and keen, that this was more than a casual inspection. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. He shot her his most disarming smile, the one he spent half his adolescence perfecting in motel mirrors, and addressed her in a lazy drawl.

"You let us out of here, sweetheart, I'll be sure and thank you properly."

Her lips twitched in amusement. "I let you out and my sister will kill me."

Dean caught her eye and held it for a long moment. "Something to think on though, huh?"

She didn't reply, stooped to push the camping lamp through the bars and placed it on the floor. It filled the cage with a warm, yellow glow.

"I figured you boys could use a little light."

Neither one of them thanked her and the silence was getting awkward when Tim dumped the shit he was carrying on the ground. He opened a small panel set into the base of the cage door, Dean hadn't noticed it before, and shoved the boxes, bottles and bucket through. He eyed Dean cautiously.

"Suzie didn't want to waste food on you but I talked her round. Managed to scrounge up some pizza, figured it'd help with… you know…"

His voice tailed off and Dean smirked as understanding hit home.

"Who'd you do it for, Tim? Me or you?"

Tim ducked his head. "I said I was sorry, Dean. When I got into this I didn't know how far she'd go."

Dean nodded. "Now you've got the big picture, what you gonna do about it?"

Tim shrugged helplessly and Dean pressed the advantage. "You owe me, man. You wouldn't be drawing breath if it wasn't for me."

Tim still wouldn't look at him. "You think I don't know that?"

Dean was expecting Kate to head this conversation off at the pass but when he glanced over he found her following the exchange raptly. He tried a different approach.

"Next time they put me in that pit, I ain't walking out with cuts and bruises. Chances are I won't be walking at all. You know that, right?"

He was addressing both of them but it was Kate who finally replied.

"Those gorillas Suzie recruited; they're watching playback of the fight on loop, studying your moves."

Dean wasn't surprised by the news but he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the challenge it presented. Next time he'd be up against men who knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it. He wasn't sure he could change his fighting style on the fly, not with two or more fuckers coming at him and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Sam came to stand beside him, offering support. He sounded as anxious as Dean felt.

"If you know what Suzie's planning you've got to tell us. Give Dean a chance at least."

Tim was shaking his head. "She only talks to Nathan and Toby. She don't tell me nothing."

Abruptly Nathan's voice was right inside Dean's head, his recent promise ringing loud and clear.

_We'll give you something more challenging next time._

He broke out in a sweat and was thankful he was seated because his legs turned to jelly. His head was spinning, his hands shaking and the only coherent thought running through his brain was how much he needed the bottle of painkillers. Two pills would take care of all his doubts, three would...

He pulled himself together with an effort. As he re-entered normal space he discovered Sam looking at him, face pinched with concern and lips pursed tightly together. Kate and Tim were watching with something approaching pity and he realised, belatedly, he'd just revealed something important. He'd given them a glimpse of his inner turmoil, revealed a hint of weakness and he covered up hastily. He pasted a sneer to his face, got languidly to his feet and raised his chin defiantly.

"What is this? Some kind of freak show?"

He picked up the nearest box and flipped the lid open. The pizza inside was cold and greasy; an unappetising mix of dried pepperoni and congealed cheese but his empty stomach growled its approval anyway. He raised an eyebrow at Tim.

"This your idea of a last supper?"

"It's better than nothing." Tim spoke quietly but this time he met Dean's eyes and held them.

"Next fight's in two hours. They're matching you up with those new guys but Suzie's got something else planned, some kind of handicap."

"What?" Dean's stomach did a somersault. "What the fuck?"

Sam was beside him again, his voice hard as flint. "What kind of handicap?"

Tim didn't answer and Kate spoke into the strained silence.

"I'll see what I can find out. You need to eat, Dean."

Dean ignored her, his eyes still on Tim. The guy was on the verge of some kind of epiphany and he tried to move it along.

"If you really want to help, you call Bobby Singer and tell him what's going down. He'll know what to do."

"You think I've got a fucking death wish?" Tim voice was resolute, held a note of incredulity but the way his eyes slid across to Kate and back again, Dean knew the words were for her benefit. Her allegiances in this matter were sketchy at best so he played along, shrugging wearily.

"It's your conscience, man."

Kate pulled Tim away from the cage before he could reply and Dean watched them leave the warehouse, pulling the door shut after themselves. For the first time since this nightmare began, he allowed himself to feel something approaching hope. Sam shut it down in a heartbeat.

"Can we trust Bobby? I mean, he sent us to Nathan and Toby, he vouched for them…"

Dean rounded on him, practically snarling the words. "_We_ were stupid enough to get blindsided by those fuckers, you think Bobby's above all that?"

"I was just saying."

"You say anything like that again, Sam; I'll bust your nose."

Sam didn't acknowledge the threat. He retrieved the other pizza box and bottles of water. He eyed the bucket balefully.

"I'm guessing that's the john."

"Yeah, well, don't piss on the seat, Einstein."

Sam sat on the bunk, opened the box and grimaced as he inspected the gloop inside. He picked out a slice and bit into it tentatively, studying Dean as he chewed.

"You think Tim's gonna make the call?"

"I don't know, man. If he had one grateful bone in his body he'd have made it hours ago."

Sam cocked his head, his interest piqued. "What happened in New Orleans?"

Dean couldn't help smirking as he recalled their earlier exchange. "I threw myself in front of something, Sammy; got banged up real good."

Sam's brow furrowed. "That voodoo case you were working? Right before you came to Stanford?"

Dean snorted. "Anything weird goes down in New Orleans, it's _always_ friggin' voodoo. This was in '04."

"You gonna tell me about it?"

Dean sat beside him and took a bite of his own pizza. It tasted better than it looked and he stuffed half the slice into his mouth, glancing at his brother and talking round the food.

"Anything to keep my mind out of the pit, huh?"

_And off the pills._

Sam didn't bother denying it and, honestly, Dean was grateful to his brother for providing a distraction. He was reaching for a second piece of pizza when Sam spoke again, his voice sombre.

"You've got to promise me something, Dean."

Dean was certain this had nothing to do with New Orleans but he gave it a shot anyway.

"You wanna go party in the St. Louis boneyard? It's _on_, man."

Sam didn't smile. "Promise me that whatever goes down in that pit, you won't kill anyone."

Dean considered it for all of half a second then shook his head. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

**Twitter me: andii_valo**


	10. Chapter 10

**It was just over** an hour later when they came for him. Dean wasn't ready, wasn't mentally prepared, which was no doubt part of the strategy. Keeping him on edge and off balance was an effective way to play havoc with his focus and concentration; like the odds weren't stacked against him already.

The story of what went down in Louisiana hadn't taken long to impart; Sam got the abridged version but at least had an understanding of the depth of Tim Matthews' debt to Dean Winchester. Whether Tim would have the guts to pay up was another matter and Dean's brief conviction in the man had quickly evaporated. After all, he'd pretty much left Dean for dead in New Orleans, beaten to hell and surrounded by undead voodoo creatures. Even if Tim had made the call to Bobby immediately, and it was a big if, help wouldn't arrive until after the next fight. Whichever way he looked at it, Dean was headed back into the pit and he estimated his chances as slim to none.

Sam helped by talking through some strategies, offering tips on how Dean could modify his fighting style to at least keep his opponents on their toes, and he was grateful to his brother for that. But now it looked like the fight had been brought forward and there might be reasons other than just to keep them both wrong-footed. Dean had tried not to think about whatever handicap Suzie had lined up but, as Nathan and Toby approached the cage, it was the _only_ thing he could think about. His stomach felt hollow, sweat pricked at his brow so, like he always did, he kicked the feelings into a box and locked it tight. He met them at the door of the cage with an insolent smile.

"Somebody here got an early death wish?"

Nathan was carrying his shotgun and he rammed the muzzle through the bars, catching Dean hard in the gut.

"Shut your mouth, smartass. Turn round and put your hands behind your back."

Sam was beside him in a heartbeat. "How about you come in here and make him."

The gun swung in Sam's direction and Dean's heart stuttered in his chest. "Back off, Sam. I don't need a friggin' guard dog."

"The hell you don't." Sam's voice was full of menace but it wasn't directed at Dean. He was staring at Nathan, a clear challenge on his face. "Put us both in the pit, then you'll get the fight you want."

Toby sniggered. "Don't get ahead of yourself, son. Go sit on the bunk while we take care of your brother. Fuck us around and it'll go worse for him."

Sam didn't budge and Dean sighed. "Do it, man. I'll be okay."

They both knew that wasn't true and Sam stood there a few seconds longer, fists clenched and anger coming off him in waves. Eventually he stalked across the cage and sat down. If looks could kill Nathan and Toby wouldn't just be six feet under, they'd be salted and burned for good measure.

Toby produced a set of handcuffs and made a swivelling motion with his forefinger. Dean sneered at him for a long minute before turning round slowly. He placed his hands behind his back after the third command and felt the cuffs snap onto his wrists. They were pulled uncomfortably tight; punishment for disregarding orders, then the door to the cage swung open and he was being dragged out. He shot a look at Sam and his brother looked mutinous.

"Don't do anything stupid, Sammy. You hear me?"

Sam's gaze swung onto him and there was fire in his eyes. "You make sure you kill those fuckers this time, Dean. You do it for me."

"You got it, man."

He said it with a swagger he didn't feel. Dean figured Sam didn't mean it anyway; it was just the anger and fear talking. Not that it mattered; he had no intention of holding anything back in the pit. He had to admit though, it'd be a hell of a lot easier to do what needed doing if he truly had the moral support of his brother. No repercussions that way.

The moon was low in the sky as he was prodded across a wide section of waterlogged grass. It was the first time Dean had gotten a look at his surroundings. On arrival, he'd been hauled from the van and taken directly to the pit with a bag over his head. He'd left there unconscious. Sam had told him they were in some kind of derelict amusement park and he could see the outlines of broken down rides and booths in the dim light. He shivered; it was cold and he was wearing nothing but jeans and a ripped, blood-stained tee shirt. He felt light headed and spaced out, a combination of blood loss and drug withdrawal, and he tried not to trip as he slipped and stumbled through the mud.

They were headed towards a covered carousel and Dean didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned they hadn't gone straight to the pit. There were lights on inside the shed and he could see from the faded paint and chipped plaster on the carnival horses that this place hadn't been used in years. He was led through the building to a door on the far side of the ride. Nathan gave a cursory knock, threw it open and pushed him inside. He was following so closely that when Dean pulled up in shock, he barged into him with enough force to knock him to his knees. That earned him a hard cuff round the back of his head.

"Watch where you're going, asshole."

Dean barely felt it. He struggled to his feet, staring at Suzie Wandell while his stomach twisted up in knots. She was sprawled in a chair, feet up on a long wooden table, a bottle of whisky and two glasses in front of her. He glanced round the room, which seemed to be serving as the gang's headquarters. There was a ratty couch along one wall, an AV rig and camcorder set up in front of it, chairs, food cartons and beer crates strewn about and a heater blowing out fumes in the corner. In spite of the warmth, Dean shivered again. Suzie noticed his unease.

"Easy there, stud. You're not here for sex, not this time. But don't think you're off the hook."

If that was supposed to make Dean feel better, it wasn't working. He stared at her apprehensively.

"This got something to do with the…"

Dean caught himself just in time. He wasn't supposed to know about the handicap, any of Suzie's plans for that matter. He didn't want to jeopardise the fragile alliance he might have forged with Tim by spilling his guts at the first opportunity and back-pedalled hastily.

"Where's your sister? She bailed on you already?"

"She'll be back for the main event." Suzie nodded at Toby. "Give Dean a little freedom. We need to talk."

Toby clumped into the room and closed the door. He unlocked the cuff on Dean's left wrist, pulled his arms roughly in front of him and re-attached it. It wasn't much of an improvement, not while Nathan and his shotgun were sharing the same space, but it gave Dean something to work with. Toby pushed him into a seat opposite Suzie and grunted a command.

"Keep your hands on the table. Move and I'll break your fingers."

Dean obliged and watched suspiciously as Suzie filled the glasses with whisky. She pushed one towards him.

"What's this? Last drink for the condemned?"

She smiled. "Don't sell yourself short, honey."

Dean raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "In case you'd forgotten, there's stitches in my side and I'm down a couple pints of blood."

Suzie drained her glass and poured a refill. "I need you focussed in that pit, Dean; on top of your game. For your brother's sake you're going to put on a good show."

Dean reached for the glass, briefly considered whether alcohol was a good idea right now then figured what the hell. He tossed back the liquor as he considered Suzie's words.

"If I can't?"

She leaned across the table and poured him another drink.

"You're a fighter, Dean. You'll get it up when it matters."

Dean made short work of the second glass, feeling the burn of liquor in his throat and belly, embracing the first tendrils of inebriation. God knew he needed something to take the edge of his dread and foreboding.

"And if I won't jump through hoops?"

Suzie filled him up again. "It's not negotiable. We can do it nicely or we can play hardball."

Dean felt Toby and Nathan close in behind him and he stiffened, every nerve in his body jangling. Was this it? Were they about to hobble him or something worse? Suzie saw his expression change and she frowned.

"Why so tense, Dean? I thought you'd appreciate this."

She reached into her pocket and placed the bottle of painkillers on the table.

"I know you're hurting, honey; I know you're jonesing. This'll make everything good. You take as many as you need."

She slid the bottle across the table and Dean glowered. "Fuck you."

But his heart was hammering and his hand had closed on the bottle, drawing it near before she changed her mind. Was this the handicap? Something as simple as jacking him up? She was probably thinking it would slow him down, make him dopey like she'd witnessed in the cage and he suppressed a smile. She didn't know he'd been using for weeks. She'd just fucked up big.

He was about to pop the cap when his rational mind woke up. Fighting on painkillers was risky; he wouldn't know how bad he was getting hurt and they took out all vestiges of self-control. Neither bothered Dean much; in a kill or be killed situation there was only one way to go, regardless of what Sammy might prefer. Painkillers mixed with alcohol sharpened him up in all the right places and that's what he needed right now. Consequences be damned.

He shook out two pills, shoved them into his mouth and chased them down with whisky.

"See, that wasn't so hard." Suzie sounded satisfied as she reached across the table for the pills. Dean didn't release the bottle.

"How about I hold onto these. I'll need them later."

Nathan's voice growled in his ear. "How about I bust your arm; you son of a bitch."

In spite of his new found confidence, Dean's stomach lurched and he turned in the chair to face his tormentor. "That's the plan, right? Hobble me, throw me in the pit and film two assholes taking me apart"

Nathan stared blankly and Dean snorted. "Something to jerk off to at night, huh?"

Nathan didn't rise to the challenge. He clapped a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder and pushed him round in the chair.

"Eyes front, asshole."

There was a smile pulling at Suzie's lips. "Why Dean, what a nasty mind you have. As if we'd do something that low..."

But he'd seen the shadow of suspicion cross her face and cursed silently. Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? Now she knew somebody had ratted and would be gunning for Tim. So much for a rescue mission...

Suzie snapped her fingers. "Give me the pills, Dean. Do well on the next challenge and you'll get more."

Dean leaned back in his seat. "How about you come take them? A little one on one action, huh? I gotta warn you though, I'm ticklish as hell."

That was the pills talking, dropping verbal bombs like these were casual pick-up lines tossed over a bar and Dean wasn't in one of the most dangerous situations of his life.

Suzie raised her eyes, nodded and something slammed into Dean's back, right between his shoulders. He figured it was the butt of the shotgun because Nathan's voice was growling again.

"This is me being nice, Winchester. Put the bottle down or things'll get messy."

The threat barely registered, not with the booze and pills working their magic. They over-rode the bleak certainty and numbing inevitability of his plight and now Dean could see possibilities. If Nathan was using the shotgun as a battering ram, it meant the business end was turned the other way…

He might have miscalculated, but was willing to play the odds he'd been given. He grabbed the bottle of whisky, surged from his chair, pivoted and smashed it into the side of Nathan's head. The glass didn't break but Nathan went down like a sack of shit, the gun skittering across the floor and fetching up against the wall. Dean made a dive, actually had his fingers on it when Toby's bulk landed on top of him, crushing him against the grimy floorboards. The air was forced from his lungs and he struggled to draw breath while Toby's fist pounded his ribs like a jackhammer.

The weight pinning him to the floor shifted, he was rolled onto his back and then Toby was on him again. In spite of the flare of pain in his ribs, his shortness of breath, Dean was thinking strategically. As Toby raised his fist for another blow, Dean got the chain of the handcuffs round his neck. He pulled Toby down at the same moment he jack-knifed from the floor and head butted his opponent on the bridge of his nose. The spray of blood hit Dean full in the face as Toby jerked back, hands flying to his nose. Dean got his right leg up, rammed it into Toby's side and in a move dredged up from his wrestling days, flipped the man deftly. He still had the chain round Toby's neck and rolled with him. He landed on top, disengaged the cuffs then rained blows on any part of Toby's head he could get at. He was cursing steadily the whole time; this felt good. It felt _right_.

He stopped only when something hard and metallic jabbed into his temple and he heard the shotgun being cocked. Suzie voice was shaky but there was no mistaking the assurance in her tone.

"Get off him, Dean, or so help me I'll blow your brains out."

Dean sat back and wiped his face, smearing blood across it. He looked her up and down appraisingly.

"How'd you like it up close and personal, sugar? Does it get your motor running?"

He let his voice turn lewd, intent on unnerving her some more. "This turns me _on_, baby. I'm on fire right now and you know what? Any piece of tail will do."

Suzie didn't respond, though she seemed repelled by his display. Her finger was still on the trigger of the shotgun, rock steady and Dean waited for the shot; honestly didn't care if it came or not anymore.

The stalemate played out for long seconds until Dean heard feet approaching. Suzie was pushed aside and then Nathan was looming over him, looking monumentally pissed. A moment later the shotgun was in his hands.

"Say hi to your old friend, Winchester."

He turned the weapon, ready to ram the butt into Dean's head and Suzie called out sharply.

"Don't you do it, Nathan. I need him conscious."

"He's like a rabid dog." Nathan's voice was a low, disgusted snarl and he kicked Dean in the thigh. "Get off him asshole; do it slow."

Dean noted how the gun had been righted and he was looking down the muzzle. Suzie might see him as an essential piece of entertainment but Nathan most certainly did not. Taking both barrels in the head didn't seem like such a great idea anymore and he stood up slowly. Free of his weight, Toby groaned and cursed but didn't get up. Part of Dean felt proud about that and he smirked at Nathan.

"How'd you want me, chief? Back on the leash or rolling over for the bitch there?"

When Suzie slapped his face, Dean knew he'd gotten to her. He put some fake concern into his voice.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Things getting away from you?"

"You mind your tongue, you bastard." Suzie's voice was hard and flat. "This is what I get for being considerate?"

Dean snorted. "No lady, this is what you get for feeding me drugs and booze. Pretty, ain't it?"

He took a step forward, trying to press his advantage but Suzie didn't budge.

"I'm not scared of you, Dean."

Dean smiled. "No? You should be."

Then Nathan was between them. Dean got a hard, unexpected fist in the face and he staggered backwards, fetching up sprawled on the couch. Nathan was glaring at him.

"Quit yapping or I'll muzzle you."

He turned to Suzie. "Go fetch the others. This fight is happening now."

Dean grinned. "Bring it on."

Suzie glared. "You giving me orders, Nathan? You forgetting who's running this show?"

Nathan shrugged. "You want to be left alone with the psycho?"

Suzie's eyes darted across to Toby, motionless on the floor, then back to Dean. He winked at her.

"Takes one to know one, huh? Don't worry, _honey_, I'll show you a good time while he's gone."

Her expression turned icy but it didn't reach her eyes. They were uncertain and wary. "You'll regret those words, Dean."

Dean didn't flinch. He had the measure of her now and he didn't hide the contempt in his voice.

"Promises, promises…"

**Twitter me: andii_valo**


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